Unlawfully Wed
by Eleix Moone
Summary: Alexander Hamilton and George Washington were once madly in love until the effects of Don't Ask, Don't Tell destroyed their relationship, breaking Alexander's heart and leaving him broken and empty. He put himself back together with the help his best friend, John Laurens, and his ex-wife, Eliza Schuyler. Now, five years have gone by since the breakup, and Alexander is a big shot l
1. Chapter 1

"We find the defendant, Paul Revere, guilty, your Honor."

"All right. Mr. Revere, I sentence you to ten years in the state penitentiary for slander and libel in the first degree. Court is dismissed."

Alex waited for the judge to take her stand before he did the same. He stacked his papers on the table in front of him, angling them lighting between his hands and dropping them repeatedly on the wood until all of the edges lined up. He smiled to himself while he tucked the papers securely into a Manila folder before putting them into his black leather briefcase, precariously placed next to the fountain pen, which had a tendency to leak, that he had had since college.

Once the papers were secure, Alex picked up the suitcase and began to head out of the courtroom with a spring in his step. There was just something about supporting the little guy in court and /winning/ that just made his day.

This case, Betsey Ross v. Paul Revere, it was made even better that Alex had been working in close proximity to Betsey Ross, a lovely woman who was suing Paul Revere, a blogger, over his leud and vulgar rendition of one of her songs, retitling it "The British are Cumming (Hard)" and making it all about sex and calling her a whore.

When Alex heard the song, he put together a case against Paul without a second to spare. Alex and Betsey had known each other since they were in college (they had known Paul for that long, as well, surprisingly), and Alex refused to let Betsey's name be associated wth that filth. He made sure to defend Betsey to the very best of his ability, and managed to win his ninty-seventh case since he opened his firm three years earlier with his best friend and ex-boyfriend, John Laurens. To some, it seemed unreal that he had managed to take on that many cases in that amount of time ( _especially_ with how challenging his cases were), but he worked non-stop around the clock. His work was his life. He didn't have a spouse, he didn't any children; there was nothing holding him back.

As he walked out of the courthouse and out to his car, his phone began to ring. He pulled it out of one of the deep, front pockets of his charcoal-gray suit pants and clicked on the screen, unsurprised to see that it was John calling him.

"Hello?"

"Alex. We have a situation."

Alex rolled his eyes. John viewed _everything_ as a situation. "Did we run out of tea again? Is there sugar all over our breakroom floor? Did Eliza forget about Phillip's piano less-"

"You got a letter from George Washington."

Alex stopped short in his tracks. _That_ was a name that he had not heard in a long, long time. "Did you open it?"

"No, man, you know it's unlawful for me to open someone else's mail. Why, do you want me to?"

Alex opened the passenger side door of his silver SUV and tossed his briefcase in before walking around to the other side and slouching against the driver's door. He crossed his free arm across his chest, balancing his elbow on his hand as he adjusted his hold on the phone. "No, not yet. If you had already opened it, I'd tell you to tell me what he wanted, but since you didn't . . . "

John made a noise from the back of his throat that Alex knew meant he was nodding. "Okay. Well, I'll leave it on your desk then. How'd Betsey's case go? Revere step off?"

John had known Betsey just as long as Alex had, so when Alex was forthcoming about working on her case, John was quick to help. He worked on getting information about Paul's past and his intentions while Alex worked on piecing everything together. "We won, just like we knew he would. He's got ten years in the state pen."

John sucked in. "Woah. That's surprisingly harsh for slander and libel. I was expecting a few, but . . . "

"Mr. Revere made some pretty crude suggestions on his blog about what he thought the judge should deem as his 'punishment'. She was not impressed." Alex pushed himself off his car and got in, stepping on the brake as he started the engine. It roared to a start, and within seconds he was making his way back to the office. "Listen, I'll be back in twenty. Put some tea on? Make it nice and hot?"

"That's the other half of our situation. We're out of tea."

Alex hung the phone up without another word.

Several hours later Alex pulled into the driveway of his modest two-story house, his heart thrumming nervously as he glanced for the thousandth time at the crisp white envelope that rested on the seat beside him. John had given it to him the moment that he got back, eagerly encouraging Alex to open it and see what the letter said, but Alex was less enthusiastic than John was. In fact, one could almost say that he was dreading it.

He contemplated leaving the envelope in the car but curiosity got the best of him, and he stuffed it into his briefcase before he had a chance to second guess himself.

Alex tucked the briefcase securely against his side and got out of the car, making sure to lock it from his key fob before making his way up to the house. He unlocked the door and went in, putting the briefcase on the entry table and toeing his shoes off beneath it. He loosened his tie and walked up to his room, steadily removing articles of clothing with each step until he was entering his room in nothing but a pair of money-patterned boxer shorts and his black calf-high socks. He threw his crumpled suit into a pile in the corner for his housekeeper to get in the morning, choosing instead to put on a faded Coca Cola tee shirt and a soft pair of black sweatpants.

Once Alex was fully dressed, he left his bedroom and went back down to the kitchen to make himself a bowl of instant noodles to have for supper. After the trial he had eaten a burger and some fries from a fast food joint across the street from his house, but it hadn't been enough to tide him over for more than an hour or two.

He put the noodles in the microwave for two minutes. He watched the numbers as they counted down, the monotonous routine slowing his mind down enough to let him think rationally about this whole George Washington thing.

The problem with thinking rationally, however, was that everything about George Washington was irrational. Just the mention of his name was enough to case a deep ache in Alex's chest (it started on the car ride back to office, and hadn't gone away since), and the four hours of time he had to remember the man was quickly making him feel worried and anxious about what the letter could possibly say. It had been five years since they had talked; it couldn't be anything good. If they had ended their relationship on good terms, maybe, but as it was . . .

No. Alex wasn't going to open up that can of worms again. It had taken well over a year for Alex to stop constantly praying for a text or a phone call, and another year for the feelings to fade away.

With that thought in mind, Alex took his noodles out of the microwave and went into his living room. He sat down on his couch and pulled his legs up under himself, grabbing his phone and pulling up the application for his Roku. He scrolled through until he landed on Netflix. He searched through the movies and television shows, trying to find _anything_ that would distract him from his wandering thoughts, but it was a challenge to focus now that his carefully constructed levy had begun to crack.

After ten or so minutes of unsuccessful searching (and his noodles going cold), he decided that trying to keep out of his head wasn't going to work. He placed the bowl on his coffee table, his appetite gone, before getting up and making his way towards his office, where his laptop was sitting on the charger in sleep mode.

Alex booted his computer back up and typed in his password, butterflies beginning to dance around his stomach and his heart rate increasing as he was granted access. He went into his picture folder and hit the one labeled "2009-2011" before slamming his laptop closed in a panic.

What was he doing? He had worked so hard to put all thoughts of George behind him. He wasn't going to go back to being that heartbroken kid that he was five years ago. It had cost him everything then; he couldn't let it cost him anything now.

Alex ground his teeth and let out a breath through his nose, picking his phone back up from where he had dropped it next to the computer. He went through his contacts until he found the number for Eliza Schuyler, his ex-wife and the mother of his twins, Phillip and Angelica.

Alex knew he was gay from a young age, but when he was a youth growing up in the New York foster system, he learned quickly that life went far smoother for him when he acted like it was women that his heart his desired. When he was seventeen, Eliza and he met at a school dance, which they then went home together from.

Phillip and Angelica were the result of that night.

When Eliza found out she was pregnant, she was terrified about how she was going to be able to take care of one child, let alone two, so Alex came up with a solution: a quick wedding the day that they we'd both eighteen (a month before the twins were born) and moving off to a military base the moment that Alex got out of boot camp for the Army, a job that he only took in order to financially support his wife and his children.

After Alex did his mandatory four years, he went back to college on his GI money before continuing on to law school, at which point Eliza and he had decided to end their marriage and part ways amicably. (The fact that they both were gay _definitely_ was a deciding factor in the end.)

Law school was where things began to get dizzy for Alex in addition to starting the beginning of the end of his marriage. He learned that he loved talking about the law, and he loved to state his opinions, but he _hated_ defending people whom he knew did not deserve it. It was something that disturbed him greatly, especially when he began to work for a firm that supported the Big Business Corporations and walked all over the little guy, something Alex had always been. It was, however, where he and George met, and how . . .

Alex clenched his teeth harder and shook his head. Thinking about how George and he met was the opposite of keeping it out of his head. He needed a distraction.

Alex clicked the call button for Eliza's cell and held his phone up to his ear, waiting impatiently for her to pick up. When she did, Alex could hear Phillip and Angelica arguing in the background.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Eliza. It's me."

"I know that, Alex. Caller ID, remember?" There was a playful waiver to her voice. "What's going on, sweetheart?"

"Can I come over for a little bit? I just need some time to get . . . things out of my head." Alex didn't elaborate, but he knew that Eliza would most likely be able to guess what was upsetting him.

Sure enough, Eliza made a soft cooing sound before clicking her tongue. "Of course you can, honey, but just try to think about something else until you're over, all right?"

"Like what?"

Eliza didn't answer at first. Alex started to get worried when he heard Eliza let out a small giggle before making another noise at the back of her throat. Alex's eyes widened when he realized what was happening. "Eliza! Did you really pick up the phone while being intimate with Maria?"

"You're on speaker," Eliza answered, her voice smug.

"Hi, Alexander!" Maria joined in before making a noise that couldn't be mistaken for anything other than what it was.

Alex coughed uncomfortably and shifted in his seat, trying to ignore how the sounds were affecting him (he may be gay, but Eliza's noises were enough to drive _anyone_ crazy). "With Phillip and Angelica in the next room?"

"We're discreet."

Alex could hear Maria scoff. "I am, she's not."

" _Okay_ , I am going to let you go then. Give the kids a kiss for me, would you?"

"Of course. Bye, Alex."

"Bye, Alexander!"

"Bye, ladies." Alex pulled his phone away from his head and ended the conversation before dropping his head down onto the top of his laptop.

He needed a better distraction.

Alex slowly lifted his head back up and slouched back into the chair, turning his phone back on and going through his messages until he found the conversation with John. Once again, he clicked the "call" button and impatiently waited for his friend to pick up the call.

Fortunately, it seemed that John must have already been on his phone, as he answered halfway through the second ring. "Hey, man, what's up? Did you open Washington's letter yet?"

"No, actually. I decided I'm not going to." Maybe. Possibly. Unless he gave in to the desperate pangs of nostalgia in his chest. "I got rid of it." Another lie.

John seemed to be able to detect Alex's dishonesty. "You left it in the car, didn't you. God, will you ever change?"

"Quiet, you. I was _going_ to see if you wanted to get the boys together and have some fun over here tonight, but if you're going to just be a dick the whole time . . . "

Alex could almost _feel_ the look that John had to be wearing. He likely had one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes mere slits behind his eyelids and his lips drawn tightly in disapproval. It was the same look he had every time that Alex said something he did not agree with.

After nearly a full minute of silence, John let out a loud sigh. "*Fine, I'll play nice. But you better make a real decision regarding that letter." He hung up before Alex had a chance to say anything else.

Alex put his phone back down on the desk and shook his head.

He hoped this distraction was worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty minutes after Alex hung up the phone, there was a banging on his door. At first, he was baffled at how quickly his friends made it over, but then he remembered how John worked: if Alex had a problem, John started to make it way over before Alex even had time to say yes. Half the time he made it all the way to Alex's door before even telling Alex he was on his way over.

With Alex's mind so foggy, a lack of warning might have been welcome tonight.

Regardless, Alex paused the documentary he had begun to watch and made his way over to the door. He pulled it open, unsurprised to see his three best friends standing there with bottles of liquor.

"Hey, guys," he greeted, taking a step back and holding the door all the way open so that his friends could enter.

Hercules Mulligan, Alex's college roommate, entered the house first. He was carrying a bottle of Tequila in one hand and a twelve-pack of beer in the other, a shit-eating grin on his face that only grew when he made fist and "lightly" punched Alex in the arm, although his strength made the tap shock Alex down to the bone. He was six feet of pure muscle, and the thickness of his waist and of his beard was enough to fill lesser beings with fear.

Next came Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, or Gil, for short. Alex had known him since boot camp. They shared a barracks for nearly three months, they were sent to the same bases for the three years after that, and moved back to the city together when their service was up. Unlike Hercules, his figure was more lithe and slender, although his height more than made up for the lack of girth. He didn't have a bottle of liquor, but he was carrying a six pack of hard pink lemonade. Alex used to make fun of him for drinking fruity drinks, but tonight, it actually sounded better than the Tequila.

Finally, John came through the door with his curly brown hair in a low ponytail at the base of his neck. He had a two-liter bottle of Grape soda (he didn't drink) and a bag of cinnamon-sugar Cheetos in his hand. He was still dressed like he had been at the office in dark-wash jeans and a blue sweater, pulled over a green plaid button down.

Yeah, Alex _definitely_ found John the most attractive of his friends.

Alex cleared his throat and pulled his eyes away from the way that John's jeans clung to his muscled thighs before shaking his head and making his way into his living room, where Hercules had already made himself comfortable with Alex's remote and the bottle of vodka, Alex's soft gray blanket wrapped around his legs and tucked neatly into the couch cushions. Gil sat down beside him and sprawled out, as well.

"Go ahead, make yourself at home," Alex said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as Gil made a face. Alex moved to sit in his favorite well-worn chair that was adjacent to the couch, John sitting down at his feet and kicking his legs haphazardly on the floor. Alex took one of Gil's lemonades, popping off the top and taking a long sip of it.

For several moments, the men were silent, each just sipping at their drinks and enjoying being in one another's company. It had been far too long since they had had a gathering, but in between John and Alex running a successful law firm, Hercules managing a tailor shop downtown, and Gil teaching eight French classes at a local university, it was difficult to make time to see one another. It had been easy when they were young and unfocused, their significant others joining the group and changing the dynamics: Gil's and Hercules's wives teasing the men in playful jest and discussing their own gossip, John's flings getting in-between the women and, more often than not, causing fights between the two of them, and George, getting along with Gil, Hercules, and John like he had always been part of the group.

Alex clenched his jaw. Being with his friends was supposed to make him /forget/ George, not bring back even more painful memories of him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, making sure to open them before it would raise any suspicion, and let out another breath through his nose. He snapped the bottle cap off the lemonade and flipped it onto his coffee table, turning the bottle bottom-side up and downing the liquid. He drained the entire bottle before he flipped it back over.

When Alex placed the bottle on the table and stood to get his own stash of Smirnoff Ices from the refrigerator, Hercules and Gil looked at him with eyebrows raised.

"Going hard tonight?" Hercules asked, pulling a stack of shot glasses out of his pocket (Alex wasn't quite sure how he had fit those in) and pouring three tumblers full of tequila. He handed one to Gil and Alex before pushing an empty one John's way and taking the last one for himself. He waited for John to fill his tumbler up with soda before holding his own up above his head. "To the four of us," he said, nodding at his friends and smirking before lowering the shot and taking it. The other three followed suit.

Alex grimaced at the way that the tequila burned his throat, the bitter liquid coating his taste buds and making him queasy until he took a hefty gulp of his Smirnoff.

Hercules took another shot before capping the tequila and moving on to his beer. He took the remote and started to scroll through the movies for something for them to watch.

Before Hercules could find a movie, however, Gil drew attention to the elephant in the room. He leaned forward on the couch and put his hands between his knees, turning his eyes to Alex. "So," he began, his French accent drawling, "what is this emergency that John spoke of? All he said is that you needed us all here, immediately."

"My bet is on a giant orgy," Hercules interluded. "John said to bring alcohol, like it was something that we weren't going to do _anyway_ , but hey, a little hornyness and liquid courage have made people do crazier things." He winked and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "Elizabeth asked for pictures."

Alex snorted. He wasn't surprised that's where Elizabeth and Hercules Mulligans' minds went; they had propositioned Alex more than once during the course of their friendship. "That wasn't on my mind, exactly," he said, choking back a laugh when he saw the appalled expression on Hercules' face, the man raising a hand to his chest in mock shock.

Gil watched the exchange with a look of amusement on his face, his eyebrow raised. "As lovely as that would be . . . I do not believe that Adrienne would approve of sharing me with you three. Just Alex, maybe, but not all three." He winked at Alex and settled down further into the couch, shifting his position and crossing his left ankle over his right knee. He took a sip of his drink and looked back at Alex. "In all seriousness, what happened? Case go wrong?"

John cleared his throat and moved from the floor to the arm of the couch, putting his arm around Alex's shoulders in support. Before he could say anything, though, Hercules began to laugh hard enough for tears of mirth to come to his eyes.

"Oh my, God, you two got back together. I knew you would; you sleep together enough," he exclaimed, taking a long gulp of his beer before holding the bottle up. "Cheers to th-"

He cut off at a look from John, lowering his bottle back down and holding his free hand up defensively. He took another drink and put the bottle on the ground while he waited for Alex to answer. Gil stared at Alex expectedly.

At first, Alex wasn't able to tell his friends what the problem was. John rubbed his shoulder encouragingly, telling him without words that he didn't have to say anything, if he didn't want to.

Regardless, Alex knew that he needed his friends support. "I got a letter from George today."

Gil, who had been taking a drink, choked and sputtered. "Washington? Wrote you a letter?"

"Yeah. It showed up at the office this morning." He looked down at the floor and crossed his ankles, interlacing his fingers and sucking in his lower lip.

"An actual letter?" Hercules added, picking his drink back up and taking another long drink. "Damn, Alex, I knew he was old fashioned, but an _actual letter_? Why couldn't he have just sent you a Howler from Hell, where he belongs?" He shook his head. "The fuck does he need you for anyway? He knows better than to try and get back with you."

Alex shrugged, the heavy feeling in his stomach that had gone away when his friends showed up slinking back in like a weight dropped into a bucket of water. "I don't know."

Hercules shook his head before asking, "Well, what did the letter say?" He glared at Gil when the Frenchman punched him in his arm, hard enough to leave a mark. "What? Am I not allowed to ask that?"

"Hercules, if Alex wanted to tell us what was in the letter, he would have told us," Gil scolded, reaching out and tapping Hercules on the nose before turning back to Alex. "I'm sorry, Alex, you don't have to tell us anything that you don't want to."

John's thumbs pressed harder against Alex's shoulder in warning. Hercules and Gil might have been their friends, but John had always been overprotective of Alex, no matter what the situation or who the "opposition" was.

Alex shrugged John's hand off and moved in the chair, pulling his legs up under him and leaning his weight onto his left side. His ponytail fell over one shoulder, and he pursed his lips. "I don't know what it says. I haven't opened it yet."

"And you aren't _going_ to open it, at least not tonight." This time it was John who spoke. He looked at Alex before looking back at Hercules and Gil. "I invited you two and myself over here to help Alex forget old what's-his-name and to celebrate another winning case, _not_ to pry about some letter that he received. Okay?"

"All right."

"Yes sir."

"Good." John slid off the arm of the couch and onto the cushion besides Alex, wiggling around until he was pressed against Alex's side and beneath his arm.

Alex squeezed John's shoulder and leaned his cheek against the top of John's head, smiling contentedly as Hercules picked the remote back up and started a random movie. Having John like this was something that Alex had missed greatly over the course of the trial. The men did not have romantic feelings for one another any longer (nor had they in the last decade, in fact), but it was still nice to have hold someone and to be held by someone without there being any strings attached. They had slept together many times during the periods where both of them had been single, either out of loneliness or for a desire to be comforted. They would spend the entire evening in one of their beds, and once they were both sated and satisfied, they would wrap around one another and sleep. If it was a Friday or Saturday evening (like it was that very evening, as they sat cuddled in the chair), they would likely spend the whole night in one another's arms and then make breakfast together come morning.

It was an unconventional relationship, but it worked for them.

In regards to the unconventional . . .

Alex's mind wandered back to George as the unconventional start to _their_ relationship came to the forefront of his mind. George was quite a bit older than Alex, as well as the General of Alex's unit in the army. That had been how they had met, at least, but it wasn't for another two years after Alex left the service that they found each other again and fell in love.

As the movie scene changed, Alex couldn't help but remember the first time he and George had seen each other again. Alex had been working for that other firm, and George had just opened his own produce stand, selling goods that he had grown in his own back yard. He had claimed that Antire Inc., the company that loaned him money for the stand, was ripping him off and pocketing his money. (He was right).

Alex was meant to defend Antire, but once he and George began to talk again . . . the attraction was almost immediate, and once they had started dating, falling in love had been inevitable. George was still an Army general at heart, though, always thinking of his view in front of his soldiers, and when things got too serious . . .

Alex swallowed around lump that had taken up residence in his throat. He could feel a prickling sensation in the corners of his eyes, and he was sure that if he brushed his fingers across his lashes, there would be a telltale wetness found there. His heart was pounding in the base of his throat, and his hands were beginning to grow slick at their place on John's shoulder and on the adjacent arm of the chair.

John looked at Alex in concern when he felt Alex's thigh begin to tremble from the effort of holding back his emotions. He leaned back and angled his face toward Alex, moving forward until his mouth was only an inch or so away from Alex's ear. "You okay?"

Alex shrugged, moving John's head up and down before settling in one position. His chest was still feeling tight, and his breath felt more like he was sucking in air through a coffee stirred than it did normal inhalations and exhalations. He pulled his arm away from John's shoulders and patted him on the knee before standing, attracting the attention of Hercules and Gil. "Got to piss," he mumbled in the way of excuses, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweats and shuffling his feet out of the room.

Alex walked down his sparsely-decorated hallway towards his bathroom, stopping only to look at a picture at the end of the hallway. He stared at the plain, minimalistic watercolor image of a black and white tree on a swirled gray background for a seconds before hooking the tip of his right index finger beneath the lower left corner of the painting and flipping it up. Beneath the painting was s photograph that Alex couldn't stand looking at, but he couldn't bear to take down. It was of their whole group only a few weeks before the end of Alex and George's relationship.

In the foreground of the image, Gil and Adrienne were sitting cross-legged with their daughter, Amelie, and their son, Georges. Behind them, Hercules and John were sitting on the couch wearing ugly Christmas sweaters with wine glasses in their hands and "2008" New Year's glasses balancing on their noses. Elizabeth _and_ Eliza were standing behind the couch, in addition to Phillip, Angelica, George, and Alex. Phillip and Angelica still had youthful features on their faces, but Phillip was almost as tall as Eliza, and Angelica looked as though she had begun to fill out physically. Alex was _glowing_ with George's arm around him, and George looked more relaxed and happy than Alex could remember him ever being.

With a sigh, Alex reached out and traced the tips of his fingers over his ex-lover's face. George's smooth ebony skin made Alex's deep tan complexion look nearly white, and the shape of his cheekbones were still carved so deeply into Alex's mind that he could almost feel them beneath his hand. George had been wearing a wine-colored cable knit sweater, a favorite of Alex's, that brought out his light-grey eyes and made them shine through the glass.

He was beautiful.

With a heavy heart, Alex let his hand drop back down, causing the watercolor painting to fall forward and cover up the happy faces. He felt dumb for still being so invested in George after all these years, but he couldn't help it. George was still the love of his life, even if he didn't matter in the least bit to George. He had thought that he did, that George loved him too, but one single lapse of Alex's judgement had been enough to shatter the delicate balance of their relationship that Alex had thought to be so strong.

He had asked George to marry him, and George had said no.

They tried to stay together for a few months after that, but things had grown tense, and they started to argue over the silliest things. Alex still didn't understand why, if George loved him as much as he said he did, George wouldn't marry him. The only reason George would give was that his fellow retired officers "wouldn't take it well" that he was gay, and that he wanted to continue that aspect of their relationship in secret. Part of Alex understood (Don't Ask Don't Tell had kept him and Eliza as beards for another while he was in the service, for Pete's sake), but the bigger part wondered why it mattered when neither of them were serving any longer. He had asked George to explain, which led to them fighting . . . which led to Alex coming home to an empty house the next day.

Neither man had contacted the other since that day. Alex deleted George's number, he blocked him on Facebook, cut their social ties—until today. Until George, it seemed, decided to change the game.

It just wasn't fair.


	3. Chapter 3

Alex clenched his fists and went into the bathroom, willing himself to stop shaking as he shut the door behind him. Panicking wasn't going to do him any good, especially when he was trying to hide how much George's letter was affecting him. The tears were still pressing against the backs of his eyes, and his throat felt like it had been coated with sandpaper as he tried to swallow.

Alex forced himself to clear his throat as he made his way over to the sink. He turned on the water and leaned forward, splashing some of the cool liquid on his burning cheeks before using his hands to scoop some of it into his mouth. He drank a few handfuls, the trembling turning into shivering as he spilled some of the water onto his shirt.

Alex let out a breath and grabbed his hand towel off the rack. He used it to try and soak up some of the water off his shirt. He rubbed it against the worst of the spot before tossing it to the side, deciding that his nerves were too frazzled for him to really care. He turned around and leaned against the counter, pressing the small of his back into the marble. He relished in the way that it dug into his muscles, feeling almost like a massage if he rocked his hips the right way.

Before Alex could properly work out the kinks in his lower back, he heard a knocking at the door. He closed his eyes and forced himself to cut off the low whine that had begun to escape from the back of his throat. When the door knob jiggled, however, his eyes shot wide open. He knew he had locked the door, but it was still worrisome that one of his friends could burst in and see him like this.

"Alex?" It was John. "You've been gone an awfully long time. Are you okay?"

Alex closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. He quickly turned to splash more cold water against his eyes to get rid of any lingering tears or red marks, and squeezed his hands into fits to try and make the trembling stop for good. It didn't work as well as he had hoped, but it at least gave him an extra moment to compose himself. He didn't want to worry John, but taking too long to answer the door could potentially worry him more than looking like shit did. When John knocked a second time, Alex was quick to act, leaning forward to flip the lock into the "open" position. It made a loud, echoing _click_ sound that reverberated off the bare bathroom walls.

Alex barely had time to reposition himself back against the counter when John pushed the door halfway open and came in, shutting the wood quietly behind him before moving to lean against the counter next to Alex. He crossed his arms over his stomach, moving his right hand just enough to gently probe the side of Alex's arm with his fingertips.

"You okay?" John asked after a moment, biting the bullet and shifting his fingers to more fully grasp Alex's arm in his hand.

Alex stayed quiet for a minute before shrugging. He let out a choked laugh. "Honestly? I'm not sure." He kept his arm in John's grasp for a few seconds before pulling away and taking a step to the side. "I want to say that I'm not bothered by it, that it's just a letter, but—I'm freaking out."

"Do you want me to ask the guys to go?"

"No, it's been so long since we had a movie night—"

"Alex, they'll understand. They were here for you when George left, they'll be here for you regardless of if you read that stupid letter or not, okay? So, I'll repeat my question—do you want to be alone?"

Alex crossed his arms tighter and thought about it. Did he want to be by himself to be free to mope however he needed to? Not really, but he wasn't so sure he was in the mood to entertain company. If the letter had never been brought up, maybe, but with Hercules and Gil knowing how much he was hurting over this, how much his heart was still broken from all those years ago? That didn't sound like something he wanted to do, either.

Fortunately, it seemed that Alex didn't have to voice his final thoughts. John, always following the role of best friend, nodded and gave Alex a tight smile before leaving the bathroom and shutting the door.

Once John's footsteps had stopped echoing down the hallway, Alex's shoulders slumped in defeat. He should have at least asked _John_ to stay.

Alex bit his lips and gave himself one final hug before opening the door, shutting the light off, and stepping into the hallway. However, rather than making a left and going into the living room to see his friends out, he made a right and went up the stairs to his bedroom. He pulled his sweatpants off and bunched them up into a ball, barely even pausing before tossing them into a corner of the room. Normally, he was rather meticulous with his dirty laundry (a habit George had managed to instill in him when they were living together, actually), but today he was too out of sorts to care.

He undid his blankets and crawled under the covers, pulling his fuzzy garnet-colored blanket up to his neck and nuzzling into it. He held his head slightly above the pillow as he listened to his friends pack up and leave, their grumbling not lost to him as their voices carried like whispers up the stairs and down the hall. He closed his eyes as the door closed, trying to will himself to fall asleep.

Before Alex could do more than try and settle his thoughts, however, he was startled by the sound of knocking on the doorway of his bedroom. He shot up and pulled the blanket tightly around himself as a mock-shield and looked at the intruder, his heart pounding and his breaths coming out in gasps as he struggled to see the intruder in the dark (the boys must have turned off the hall and lower level lights when they left).

The silhouette held up their hands defensively in front of their chest. "It's just me, Alex. Hercules and Gil are gone but I wanted to stay in case you needed me." John lowered his hands before reaching into his back pocket and holding something rectangular up in his hand. "I got the letter out of your briefcase. I hope you don't mind."

Alex reached over to the nightstand and turned the lamp on. "I suppose it doesn't matter either way now that you've gotten it." He scooted back so that his back was pressed against the headboard before patting the spot next to him. "Come here. If I'm going to open this thing, you might as well be here for moral support."

John nodded and did as he was asked, taking a moment to take off his button-down shirt and his jeans before joining Alex on the bed, letting out a shiver as the chilly air hit the skin not covered by his boxers or his undershirt. He pulled the covers over his lap and leaned back, hesitating for a moment before flipping the letter in his hand and holding it out to Alex.

Alex shook his head and pushed John's hand away. "I don't know if I stand to read it. Can you read it to me?"

John nodded and brought the letter back down to his lap. He stuck his finger under the flap and dragged it across the seam, flinching as the dry skin of his finger got stuck on a jagged piece of the envelope. He tossed it over the bed and onto the floor once he got the letter out, taking a minute to unfold the multiple pieces of paper before beginning to read. "It's dated a month ago. 'My dearest Alexander'," he cleared his throat, "'If you're reading this, it means that something has happened to me, and I am already long gone. Now, before you panic—no, I am not dead, nor am I hurt, or injured. If that was the case, I promise you that you would be receiving a very different letter. No, if you are reading this, it seems the most likely that I am rotting away in a jail cell.'"

Alex couldn't help it; when George said he was "gone," the first thing he _did_ think was that he was dead. Alex had done everything he could not to keep up with George's life, but occasionally things slipped through the cracks. He knew that George reenlisted, getting sent to Iraq and only serving half his term. He had heard from Eliza (who had a cousin in the Army who, coincidentally, served under George in Baghdad) that George had lost his left leg to a stray bullet and had been honorably discharged. He had heard that George had gotten married, and that he was raising a teenaged stepson. But a jail cell?

Alex heard a lot, no matter how hard he had tried not to listen. He had heard nothing about George going to jail. He tuned back in to what John was reading.

"'Before I begin to explain why I have contacted you, I wish to convey to you my deepest apologies for the way that things went. I know that things ended poorly between us. I also know that that is entirely my fault." He paused, his eyes skimming over the page for a moment before continuing. "'Alex, I hope you know how much I loved and adored you. Being your lover was the happiest years of my life. Even now, married and a father, I have to admit that I am less satisfied with my life now than I was when I was with you. If we had met at a different time, in a different life, I would have been honored to have been your husband. If I am being honest, I longed for that. Spending the rest of my life waking up next to you? That would have been a dream come true.'"

Alex's heart was breaking. Going through George's rejection was tough the first time, but he had thought that he was numb to those feelings of pain and dismissal. It felt like he was breathing through a straw, and he felt four sizes too big for his skin. He resisted the urge to dig his nails into his arms, to rip his skin and make the buzzing feeling in his veins escape through the slits. He couldn't hold back the tears any longer, and the fell over his cheeks in salty streams. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins, resting his chin on his knees.

John kept going. "'Do you remember that weekend that we took off to Mount Vernon with Eliza and the kids and we spent that week snowed in at my grandfather's log cabin? We were so'—Alex, we don't have to keep reading this." He cut off abruptly when he noticed Alex's tears, his eyes softening and the corners of his lips turning down. He moved his arm as if he was going to pull Alex close to him, but Alex pushed him away, his skin growing even more taut.

Alex wiped away his tears (ignoring the fact that he was still crying) before waving his hand at the letter. "Keep reading. Please."

John sucked his lips into a tight line and nodded. "All right." He pulled his legs up and mirrored Alex's position. He straightened the paper and held it in front of him, squinting his eyes as he tried to figure out where he left off.

"'We were all so happy together. Eliza spent her days in the hot tub with a book, Phillip and Angelica played in the woods, and you and I . . . we kissed under the stars and whispered promises to one another as I held you close.'"

The memory burned in Alex's mind. He knew _exactly_ what trip George was talking about. It had been the place where Alex had decided that he was going to propose to George. It was one of his best and worst memories; best, because he had never felt more loved and in love than he had then, and worst for the same reason. He wished George hadn't brought it up.

Alas, he had. "'That weekend was the happiest in my life. Even now, terrified about what's to come, it's what I think about when I am lying in bed. It's what I dream about. It's what I use to keep myself calm. As much as I loathe to admit it, I still need you, Alex. I am sure it pains you to hear it, and I apologize for hurting you again.'

'On that note, Alex, I have a favor to ask.'" Alex's stomach dropped. "'I have kept up with all of your accomplishments since I left. I have newspaper clippings of every case you have won since our breakup. I have seen the website for the firm John and you started. I know you have become an amazing lawyer, Alex, and an even more amazing man. Myself, however, I have struggled. I have done things against my values, I have lied, and I have hurt people. I know where my fault stands.'

'What landed me in prison, however, that's not my fault. Speak to other lawyers, if you'd like; I was arrested for a crime I did not commit only a short way away from the city. There is no other lawyer who I trust as fully as I trust you. I have not yet been falsely convicted; I have six months until my trial. If you do not wish to take my case, I will understand, but Alex, at least come see me again. Please. All my love, George'." John stared at the letter for a moment before lowering his hand down to his lap.

Alex could hear John ask him something, but all of his blood rushed to his head with such a roar the moment John finished the letter that it completely overpowered everything else. George being in jail he could take (it hurt his heart, but he could accept it), but for him to ask _Alex_ to be the lawyer that set him free? All romantic bias aside, George and he had not spoken in more than a half a decade. Alex used to know George better than some lawyer off the street, but now? They were total strangers to one another. Besides, what was he going to do if Alex _didn't_ show up? Was he just going to pray that some flashy lawyer would show up to save the day?

Just the thought made Alex's stomach boil.

"Alex?"

Alex startled when he felt a hand on his knee. He came back to the present and looked at John, stray tears that were stuck on his lower lashes slightly blurring his vision. He rubbed his eyes and refocused, sniffing twice to try and rain the rest of his emotions in. "Yes?" he choked out, his voice shaking and his lower lip quivering.

John stared at him for a moment before sighing and holding his arm out. Alex immediately got the memo and moved over, wrapping his arms around John's torso and burying his face into his chest. He breathed in deeply, using the smell of John's woody cologne to ground him and keep him from traveling too far into his own head.

The men sat in silence for several minutes, Alex continuing just to breathe and John alternating between rubbing Alex's shoulder and playing with his hair. He pulled the ponytail holder off and slid it around Alex's wrist, using his fingers to separate the strands. He moved up the strands and used the tips of his nails to massage Alex's scalp before kissing his forehead. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Alex shook his head. "Not really."

John nodded, and silence overtook the room again. Alex closed his eyes and listened to John's heartbeat. It was loud in his ear, but it still wasn't enough to block out the debate in his head. He wanted to see George again, God knows he did, but the prospect was more than slightly terrifying. Could he really go through all that pain again? Just seeing photographic images of George's face made him cringe and die a little more on the inside,

On the other hand, maybe seeing George again was exactly what Alex needed. He hadn't been home when George had packed up his things and left; hell, he didn't even know for sure that George _was_ leaving until he got home and saw the empty dresser drawers and side of the closet. Maybe seeing George would give him the closure he needed to move on, and they could work on being friends again. They had been friends before they became boyfriends, and their friendship was the strongest part of their relationship.

Maybe that's what Alex was missing the most. George had been his very best friend (other than John, of course), the one he talked to about everything from his innermost feelings to the awful stench coming from the planter's wart on his left heel. They had all sorts of new experiences together, had done things that Alex never would have done if he had been by himself. It was what made Alex into the man he was. He had helped Phillip and Angelica through some hard times, and now that the twins were teenagers, maybe he could continue to help them.

Alex would never regret loving George, but the more arguments he made in favor of seeing George again, the more he was regretting letting John open that letter.

He wasn't sure what he was getting himself in to, but he was sure that it wasn't going to be easy.


	4. Chapter 4

All things considered, the jail that George had been arraigned to really didn't look so bad, at least from the outside. There was no barbed wire surrounding the building, and while there was a guard or two standing in the parking lot, it didn't look like there was a whole force of officers monitoring who went in and out. Alex had been having nightmares every night in the week that had passed since he received the letter, and he had managed to convince himself that George was in the type of facility he had visited the worst of the worst in.

Alex held his coffee up to his lips and took a sip, his hands shaking and almost making him spill the burning liquid onto his lap. It scalded his lips, but the pain felt welcome in comparison to the nerves that he felt. He glanced down at his watch. He still had a few minutes until he needed to go inside. Visiting hours didn't start for another twenty minutes, but he had visited enough clients in jails to know that he needed to go through a metal detector and properly sign in before they let him see George.

Alex sighed. He wasn't entirely sure that he was ready for this. He had spent much of the week corroborating with his friends to decide whether or not this was a good idea. Hercules, ever the protective one, was _furious_ with Alex for even considering the trip upstate. Alex knew it was just because the man didn't want to see him get his heart broken again, but it still hurt when Hercules called him a "fucking ass-backwards moron" and hung up on him when Alex tried to rationalize his ideals. Gil and John supported him to his face, but he knew that they were both rather upset with him, too.

Eliza, on the other hand, had been the most supportive when he had told her what was going on. He could remember the conversation as though it was playing out in front of him.

 _Alex went up to the front door of Eliza and Maria's four-bedroom home, his heart in his throat and his palms sweating. Three days had gone by since Alex had received George's letter, and he was at a complete loss at what to do. So far, John was the only one who knew of George's request, but Alex was struggling with talking to him about his options. John acted like everything was fine and that he was all right with whatever Alex chose to do, but the standoffish nature he had begun to project when he was around Alex spoke louder than his words._

 _Alex stepped up onto the porch and raised his hand, hesitating for a moment before wrapping his knuckles against the door. He bit his lip and shuffled his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets as he waited. He had left his hair out of its normal bun, so it dangled around his downwards-facing face like a dark curtain. He breathed in and out through his nose evenly while he waited for one of the women to open the door._

 _Normally, Phillip or Angelica were the first ones to see who was visiting, but Angelica had soccer practice on Wednesday nights, while Phillip had piano lessons, so Maria and Eliza were by themselves._

 _After a minute or two Maria came to the door, one hand resting on the doorframe and the other under her swollen belly. She wasn't very far into her pregnancy, but as she was having twins (conceived in vitro using Alex's sperm and eggs from both women) she looked eight months pregnant just shy of the five month mark. She looked at Alex in surprise. "Alex! We weren't expecting you tonight. I thought you were coming for supper on Friday? Did I mark it down wrong?" She pulled up the calendar on her phone and started to study it, but Alex reached out and lowered her hand before she was able to bring up individual days._

 _"_ _I just wanted to talk to Eliza, if she's here. I meant to call first but . . . you know how things can be."_

 _Maria chuckled and nodded. Alex had a pendant for showing up unannounced and uninvited. "Of course, Alex. She's in the study. Go on up."_

 _"_ _Thank you." Alex paused to kiss Maria on the cheek before going through the living room to the narrow set of stairs that led up to the study. Sure enough, Eliza was at her computer, browsing through news articles._

 _"_ _Hey honey, I—oh. Alex! You're not Maria." Eliza spun around in her chair, her eyes widening when she saw Alex standing there. She stood up and walked over to give him a hug before pulling him over to the dark-brown suede sofa in the corner of the room. She pushed him down before sitting down next to him. She leaned her back against the olive-green cushions and kicked her legs out so that her feet were resting on Alex's thighs. "I didn't know you were coming over. Did you text me?" Alex raised an eyebrow. Eliza chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Right. Of course you didn't. Well, you knew the kids weren't going to be here tonight, so what do you need?"_

 _"_ _What, I can't just come over and admire the beauty that is my ex-wife?"_

 _"_ _Nope." Eliza moved her feet so her Achilles tendon was on the side of his thighs. She pulled his legs closer to her before putting her crossing her kegs at the ankles and relaxing back into the arm. "So, I will ask again: what do you need?"_

 _Alex sighed. Eliza always knew when something was bothering him. It was one of the reasons why their friendship remained intact when their marriage dissolved. He decided to just come out and say it. "I received a letter from George a few days ago. He wants to see me."_

 _Eliza's eyes shot open, and she spun around so her feet were on the floor and her face was mere inches away from Alex's. "A letter? As in, an accrual letter? Not a Facebook message or a text?"_

 _Alex shook his head and reached into his pocket. He had brought the letter with him. He pulled it out and handed it to Eliza for her to read._

 _While Eliza scanned over the words, Alex studied her to see her reactions. He could tell exactly when she got to the sections about how George felt about Alex, as she smiled softly and reached a hand up to twist the sapphire necklace that she was wearing. When she got to George's favor, her eyes went wide and her hand moved to her mouth, and when she finished the letter, she looked at Alex with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Alex. What are you going to do?"_

 _"_ _That's what I came to see you about. I have no idea what I am supposed to do." He looked down and let his hair fall over his face for a moment before he flipped his head up and tossed his hair over his shoulder, twisting it into a quick braid before moving his hand to his mouth and biting down on his fingernails, a bad habit he had developed when he was overseas. "Part of me is dying to see him again, even if it's just for a few minutes, but the rest of me just wants to run away and pretend that I never opened this stupid thing." He took the letter from Eliza's hand and shook it before tossing it to the coffee table, a look of disgust on his face._

 _Eliza nodded understandingly and took Alex's hand in her own. "Do you want to know what I think?"_

 _Alex looked at her. "Obviously."_

 _"_ _I think that you should go and see him. It must have taken a lot of courage for him to write to you when he knew there was a good chance you'd never read it. He may have made a mistake with how he ended your relationship, but he really did love you, Alex, and I know you truly loved him."_

 _"_ _He really hurt me, Eliza."_

 _"_ _I know that, too, Alex. I saw how broken he left you, and I was here the entire time you were struggling to put the pieces back together, but Alex, don't you think George deserves to put his pieces back together too? He said in his letter that you made him happier than even his wife and child do. Alex, I know it might seem impossible, but I really think that the friendship between you two could thrive again if you two just talked. I also know that you are not yet over him, but maybe this will allow to move on."_

 _There was the same thought that Alex had been having. He sighed, knowing that Eliza had won. "But what if—Eliza, I'm terrified to see him again," Alex admitted, beginning to fiddle with his sleeves and pull them down over his hands._

 _Eliza moved forward and kissed him in the cheek. "I know you are, but I'll be with you every step of the way."_

And that had been that. Alex had gone home that night and collapsed onto his bed, his heart pounding and his mind whirring as he planned everything about this day down to the pair of underwear he planned on wearing. He had dressed in his nicest khaki pants and a dark-green button down, one he knew brought out the color of his eyes, and he had left his hair down around his shoulders in the way George always used to love. He kept telling himself that he was just trying to look his best, and not like he was throwing how "happy" he was in George's face, but he knew that was a lie. He wanted George to see him and mourn what he had lost all those years ago, and this was just the outfit to do so.

Alex took one final sip of his coffee and shut off his car, his nerves firing back up full-force as he opened the door and got out. He stuffed his cell phone into his back pocket and swirled his coffee around in the cup before making his way across the parking lot to the front entrance.

While Alex walked, he took notice of all the other visitors that were around him. There were people of all ethnicities and ages, ranging from newborns to the elderly. He could see several mothers reprimanding crying children, demanding that they be good and not embarrass their mothers on this trip. He could see girlfriends and boyfriends who looked as nervous as he felt, their red-rimmed eyes darting around as they tried to figure out which entrance to go through.

Alex took a deep breath and faked an air of confidence. He should be able to do this, right? He had visited jails dozens of times just this year. Yes, this visit was much more personal in nature than all of his previous visits, but this jail wasn't any different from any other jail. He would go in and be out in an hour, easy as cake.

He made his way up to the front door and strode in, nodding to one of the guards as he went up to the check-in window, which was surprisingly void of any line. There was a heavy-set, bored-looking African American woman slouching in a black rolling chair behind the window, her legs splayed and her interlaced fingers resting on her belly as she spun back and forth. She barely even glanced up when Alex cleared his throat, although she did lean forward to open a file on her computer. "Name and reason for visit?"

"Alexander Hamilton, here for George Washington."

The woman nodded and printed out a small blue nametag. She handed it to him and waved her hand for him to step away from the counter. Alex nodded his thanks and peeled the nametag off the shiny white backing, sticking it to his shirt above his right breastbone. He reached into his pocket and pulled his wallet and his phone out, going over to the metal detector and dropping the articles into a plastic green basket. He waited for this guard to give him the all clear before he stepped through, the detector flashing green to show that he was granted access. He took his wallet and phone out from the basket and had just begun to slide them back into his pockets when the guard grabbed his arm.

"Excuse me. Mr. Hamilton, right?" the man asked, his potbelly heaving with each syllable that he spoke. He had a nametag that said "Bruno" and a balding head, his face and scalp the color of a freshly picked tomato. He was sweating profusely, and with each jump of his belly, a bead of sweat fell onto the floor,

Alex forced himself not to grimace as he nodded. "That's correct. Is there a problem?"

"No, I just wanted to double check your relationship to Mr. Washington before you go in, so my fellow officers know where to send him. Are you here as Mr. Washington's lawyer or as his friend? He has you on his visitor list twice."

Alex thought about it for a moment. He wasn't sure that he wanted to take on an ex-boyfriend as a client, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to sit back and try to have a conversation to the sound of angry wives and sex-depraved prisoners. If George and he had still been in constant communication, maybe he could deal with it, but for their reunion? Words were likely better said in the privacy of an advising room.

"His lawyer," Alex finally said, rocking up onto the balls of his feet to try and make himself appear more professional. He straightened his back and held his hands behind his back, clenching his right hand and holding his right wrist with his left as he tried to make the way his hands trembled less obvious. "I would like to speak to George as his lawyer."

Bruno nodded. "Right this way, then, sir." He held his hand out briefly away from the front doors before turning on his heel and walking down the hall at a pace that was surprisingly quick for a man of his size. Alex followed, continuing to keep his posture sharp and his eyes facing forward as though he really was just meeting a client rather potentially making one of the biggest mistakes of his life.

The hallway was long as winding, but eventually Bruno turned into a room that was halfway down the third turn. He held open the door and waved his hand, impatiently waiting for Alex to go in.

"Thank you," Alex said, taking a big step away from Bruno's belly and side-shuffling into the advising room. Bruno grunted in response and started to walk back down the hallway before Alex even had time to grab the doorknob. Alex muttered a string of curses regarding the man and shut the door firmly behind him. He went over to the table in the center of the room and sat down. The room was decently large, but the table was so massive that there were only a few feet of floor space that Alex could kick his feet out upon. He started to flutter his legs in and out and to jiggle his knees, both habits that he did when he felt unsure.

At the sound of a quiet knocking on the door, however, all of Alex's movements stopped. He held his breath, and it was only from pure survival instinct that his heart didn't pack up and walk away from its job. "Come in," he croaked, his voice raspy and his throat dry. The door slowly began to open, and Alex craned his neck to see whether this was another guard or if it was George this time. He could see dark-chocolate skin, but he couldn't tell if the blue sleeve he caught a glimpse of was part of a guard uniform or if it was a serialized jumpsuit.

The door opened the rest of the way, and this time, Alex's heart really did run away.

George was just as beautiful as Alex remembered him to be.


	5. Chapter 5

"Alexander," George breathed as he walked into the room, jiggling his arm until the guard released him. His eyes were as wide as dinner saucers, and his fingers were twitching as he reached out towards Alex. He was still several feet away from him, however, and the guard pushed his arms back down and made sure that the handcuffs were tight before he dragged him over to the chair across from Alex and pushed him down.

"I will be outside the door if you need me. Knock three times when you're ready to leave," the guard ordered Alex, narrowing his eyes and hooking his thumbs into his belt loops as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Alex pursed his lips and nodded curtly. The guard turned on his heel and walked out of the room, letting the door slam behind him.

George stared over his shoulder at the door for a moment before he turned back to face Alex. He didn't say anything, but adjusted the way he was sitting so that his left ankle was crossed over his right knee. He seemed anxious, and like he was waiting for Alex to be the first one to speak.

Alex, however, had nothing to say. He ground his teeth and took deep breaths in and out through his nose as subtly as he could, his nerves firing up full-stop and making him feel like he was going to throw up. His skin itched, and his gums quickly grew sore as his teeth gnashed against one another.

He studied George, cataloguing every way that the man had changed physically in the last several years. His cheekbones were still shapely and chiseled, but they looked much more hollow than they had the last time Alex had seen him. His lips were thinner, too, and his jawbone was much sharper around the edges than Alex remembered it being. His head was no longer shaven, although the inch-and-a-half of hair looked like it had mostly grown in during George's incarceration rather than being a style choice. He had healed, puckered scars scattered all over his forearms, and there was a hint of a tattoo peaking out from below that sleeve of his jumpsuit that *definitely* had not been there before.

George was studying Alex too, his eyes quickly darting back and forth across Alex's body. He clenched his bound hands into fists on the table and let out small sighs every few seconds, his cheeks growing darker and darker with every new location he examined.

After a few minutes of silence, Alex's anxiety began to fade, replaced by pangs of nostalgia. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and forced himself to speak. "So. Why am I here?" He flinched at the way his voice broke on the last word.

George clenched his fists tighter, the tops of his knuckles and his nails turning white. "I would guess it's because you read my letter."

Alex rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. But why am I *here*? You have had years to talk to me. Why now? Why not go with any other lawyer?"

"Did you read all of my letter?"

"Does it matter?"

"If you had, you would have seen that you are the only lawyer that I trust to truly get me a fair trial. I don't know any other lawyer well enough for them to really know my character."

Alex let out a snort at that, ignoring the way that his hands were growing sweaty. "It's been more than half a decade, George. I don't know any more about your character now than some smuck off the street."

The corners of George's mouth turned downwards into a frown so deep that it was almost comical. He looked like a caricature, the seam of his lips shaped into a perfect horseshoe. "I haven't changed, Alexander. I am still the same man I was before."

"How would I know that? I haven't so much as heard from you since you walked out on—forget it." Alex shut his mouth, clenching his teeth again. He didn't want to bring up all that past hurt. He wanted closure, but talking about it when he was still hurting wasn't the way to go about it. He wanted George to be his friend again, and that wouldn't happen if Alex caused a fight between them their first time seeing each other again. He sighed. "What do the police think that you've done?"

This time it was George who sighed. He closed his eyes and lifted his hands to run at them for a moment before lowering his arms back down onto the table. "They think that I murdered Martha."

Alex's jaw dropped and he shot up in his seat so quickly that his back cracked audibly. "*What*?"

Georg nodded, a sad look overcoming his features. His frown became even more pronounced, and he blinked rapidly as tears began to form. "I didn't murder my wife. No one did. I Know in my heart that my Martha committed suicide. She even left a note." A single tear fell.

"If there was a note, then why do they think that you did it? What evidence did the detectives have to think it wasn't suicide?"

"They don't have anything, yet, but they don't have evidence for it being suicide, either." He looked down at the floor and let out a shuddering breath before looking back at Alex, the tears now falling freely. It made Alex's chest ache to see how broken George looked. "They haven't found her body yet."

Alex sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. Ah. So that was why George wanted him on the case.

A year or so after Alex and John opened up their firm, Alex was appointed by a judge to defend a different man, Aaron Burr, in a similar case about the disappearance of his wife, Thea. Thea had left a note taped to the front door when Aaron was at work, stating that she couldn't stand her misery any longer and that she was sorry, but she was going to jump off a Manhattan bridge into the river below.

Police divers scoured the jump spot and several miles downriver, but there was never any trace found of her body. Not a shoe, not an earring, not a tooth.

What the police did find, though, was remnants of blood and hair on multiple bookends in Mr. Burr's library, and that Mr. Burr had never shown up for work that day. He hadn't worked in nearly six months, in fact.

When his alibi failed, Alex was called in to defend Mr. Burr. They worked closely together for almost a full year until the trial, where Alex successfully convinced a jury that Aaron couldn't possibly have killed his wife, as whoever did was much taller, as their steps were wider apart, and was left handed, not right.

Aaron was secretly ambidextrous and a record long jumper. He admitted to Alex just an hour after the trial had ended that he really had killed her, and he thanked Alex for doing such a wonderful job convincing the jury. It made Alex feel sick.

He hoped it wasn't the same with George.

Alex slowly blinked and looked at George. Could the man be capable of doing such a heinous crime? And if he really had, how would Alex ever justify defending him? With Burr, he really thought that the man was innocent. But this? Defending the only man he'd ever truly loved? His emotions could pull the wool over his eyes, and another innocent woman's life could have been ended in vain.

He grabbed a pen out of his pocket and took it between his fingers, flipping it around and tapping the pointed end against the gray plastic table. "You want me to defend you," he said, his voice flat and his eyes narrowed.

"Yes."

"And you promise me that you truly didn't kill her?"

"I swear, Alexander, on everything I hold dear. On my very *life*. I did not kill Martha."

Alex hesitated for a moment before slouching down in the chair, intertwining his fingers and laying them over his stomach. He kicked his legs out, as well, crossing them at the ankle, and fought the urge to run. "Can I have a few days to think about it?"

"Of course you can, Alexander. I'd never force you to make a decision like this without weighing the pros and cons first. I remember how that brilliant mind of yours works." He wiped away the tears and tried to give Alex a sad smile, although it still looked more like a frown than anything. "No matter what you decide, will you come visit me again? Please? I'd like to catch up, if we may."

Alex bounced his knee and sat back up. "I need a few days to think about that, too."

The frown was back, but George nodded. "Of course, Alexander. Whatever you want." His voice was softer this time, defeated, even. It made Alex feel even more disappointed and upset at the way that things went between them.

George cleared his throat and balanced his still-clenched fists against the table before pushing himself up. He gave Alex another nod and walked over to the door, using his foot to kick the door three times. Immediately, the guard stepped in and took George by the elbow.

Before the guard took George out of the room, however, George turned around and gave Alex a small wave. "Goodbye, Alexander. Goodbye for now."


	6. Chapter 6

Alex stared at George's retreating back until the door was shut, at which time he slid down and kicked his feet out in front of him. He pressed a hand over his eyes and sighed, his hair falling over his shoulders and getting tangled around the buttons of his shirt. What was he getting himself into? He never should have come here. He was perfectly happy in his own naïve little world, thinking that George was happy with his marriage and his son.

He took a deep breath and sat up, pulling his shirt down anxiously before pushing his chair back away from the table and straightening up. He grimaced at the sound of the metal legs cutting into the concrete floor, the high-pitched shriek giving him goosebumps and making his blood run cold.

Alex pushed himself onto his feet and gathered his belongings, trying to emulate how he normally felt when leaving a client. He tried to ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach and the headache prodding at the backs of his eyes as best he could. He forced his right hand down into his pocket and began to walk out of the meeting room and down the hall.

As he made his way back to the front lobby of the prison, he noticed that there was a window from the hallway that looked directly into the visiting center. Through it he could see a middle-aged woman getting held in her chair by her son (or brother, or some other close relationship less than half her age), her eyes ablaze with fury and her index finger jabbing the air between her and an older man angrily. At the table next to the feuding couple was a young couple, the female counterpart looking sad and exhausted, and her mate cooing down at the tiny pink bundle of blankets in his arms. Beside them, there was a pair of men who clearly missed the physical aspect of their relationship, their eyes raking over each other and the incarcerated man's foot trailing up his boyfriend's (husband's? Alex could see the ring glinting from here) calf teasingly high.

Alex choked out a laugh and shook his head. Boy was he glad that George and he had gotten to meet in a more intimate setting. Talking about Martha's murder amongst all the sad and sexually-frustrated couples? That wouldn't do, even if George and he _hadn't_ spent the last five years estranged from one another.

He pulled his eyes from the window and continued down the hallway. A few guards passed him, both with and without prisoners, but Alex tried not to spend too much time looking at anyone else. He knew that if he focused too much on other people, he would find a reason to stay around, be it for a new client or just to find out more about what George had been like since he had gotten to prison—and he didn't want to do that. He wanted to go home and change into something a little more comfortable, then he wanted to take a nice, long nap until the sun had gone down and it got to be late enough that he could go to a club and get smashed without anyone looking at him strangely. He hadn't gotten drunk in the middle of the day since his early twenties, when he was on leave and Eliza and the kids were back home.

Alex snorted as the thought crossed his mind. The guard at the front of the prison looked at him strangely before nodding at him to hold his arms out. Alex breathed out through his nose and let the guard run the scanner over his body x-ray his jacket. It almost bored him, the constant routine of coming in and out of prisons. It was the same, every time. Come in, make sure he's not carrying drugs. Go out, make sure he's not carrying contraband. Or stolen money. Or drugs.

"So, come here often?"

Oh. Apparently _this_ check was different.

Alex furrowed his brows and peered down over his nose at the young man that was crouched down in front of him with his handheld metal-scanner perched over Alex's hip and his eyes alternating between the crotch of Alex's rather tight pants and Alex's face. The guard winked, and Alex's eyes widened. "Oh! Uh . . .no? But I live within an hour's drive."

"Mmm." The guard let out a pleased sound and moved the scanner so that the back of his hand was directly brushing Alex's pants. He bit down on his lip and looked up at Alex, his red-brown goatee making his blue eyes pop. Alex had to admit, the guard was rather attractive.

Alex felt the anxiety leaking out of him as he switched to his flirtatious mode. He winked at the guard and rocked forward onto the balls of his feet so that his hip was thrust more closely to the guard's face.

The guard hesitated for a moment before standing up and getting in Alex's space. "My name's Ryker," he said, nudging Alex with his hip, "and my shift is over in a little less than an hour. My house isn't all that far from here, if you'd like to take a brief intermission from your exciting lawyering." He bit his lip and looked at Alex expectantly.

This time it was Alex who let out a pleased hum. "An hour, you said?"

"Mhm. There's a McDonalds near by, you could go grab a bite to eat before you grab a _bite to eat_ , if you catch my drift." He glanced around to make sure no one was watching before grabbing Alex's rear. He gave a second squeeze before letting go and reaching into his pocket to pull out a small tablet of paper and a pencil. He scribbled down a few numbers and words before ripping the sheet off and leaning towards Alex, tucking the note into his front pocket. "I'll meet you at my house soon."

Ryker winked again before straightening his back and getting back into a professional position. "And that's how you get back to the highway," he said in a loud voice, clearing his throat and hooking his thumbs into the front belt loops of his khaki-colored pants.

"Wonderful, thank you," Alex responded in the same tone of voice, raising his hand and giving the other man a mock solute. He pulled his wallet and keys out of the bucket next to the walk-through detector and went to the door, purposely swaying his hips more than was strictly necessary as he felt Ryker's eyes on him.

He crossed the parking lot in less than a minute and climbed into his car, suddenly feeling completely exhausted as the excitement of flirting with someone new wore off and he remembered why he was visiting the prison in the first place. He was surprised, however, that he didn't feel the same crushing agony that he had experienced every other time he had directly acknowledged something about George since their breakup. He felt numb, yes, but more in a confused way than he did in a heartbroken one. He knew one visit wasn't going to provide closure, but if this feeling continued? He'd be the rest of the way over George in no time.

Alex cleared his throat and got into his car, closing the door and getting buckled before letting out a long breath and turning the car on. He didn't remember seeing the McDonalds that Ryker talked about, but he _did_ remember seeing a Dairy Queen, and he could really go for one of their large Mint blizzards right about now.

He pulled out of the parking spot and weaved his way through the parking lot, avoiding cars and children alike as he made his way back to the road. He turned on the radio and began to hum to himself when one of his favorite songs began to play.

He backtracked the directions in his mind until he reached the restaurant a few miles down the road. He debated going through the drive-through before pulling into a spot and going inside. He picked what table he was going to sit at before going up to the counter and smiling at the young woman who was standing there.

The woman's eyes scanned over Alex's body, coming at a stop at the top of his pants before she looked back up to his face. She smiled at him and fluttered her lashes before leaning forward and popping her hip out to the side so that her full, round buttocks were full display beneath her tight black pants. "Hi. How can I help you today?" She leaned down further and propped herself up on her elbows, making her work shirt slip down and reveal the top of her breasts, an inch of skin appearing over her name tag. Her name was Chloe.

Alex pursed his lips at the woman's obvious flirtation and rocked back on his heels, linking his hands behind his back and straightening into his fully-militant posture. He glanced up at the menu and at the machines behind Chloe, looking around and focusing his gaze on anything that wasn't the overflow of cleavage. "I'll take an order of chicken and white gravy, and a Grasshopper Blizzard, please. Extra mint syrup, too, if you can do that."

"I'll do anything for you, sweetheart." She reached across the counter and held her hand out towards Alex's arm, leaning forward until her fingers were nearly brushing Alex's shirt. Alex took another step back and released his grip on his wrist so that he could pull his wallet out of his pocket. He pulled out a ten dollar bill and put it down on the counter before giving the woman a curt nod and moving away from the counter.

Chloe let out a huffed breath before saying, "Sir, I need a name for your order. And a phone number." She winked.

Alex rolled his eyes and ignored her. He pulled his phone and his headphones out of his pocket and went over to the table he had chosen, plugging his earphones into the device and turning up his music as loud as it would go. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, counting down from 100 in his head. Hopefully, by the time he reached zero, enough time would have passed for him to go up and grab his order without having to deal with Chloe's flirtations again.

Fortunately, when Alex reopened his eyes, his meal was sitting on a tray directly in front of him. He raised an eyebrow in confusion before leaning forward and taking a bite of the chicken. He had known that his sound-blocking earphones worked well, but he had no idea that they worked well enough to actually block out the sound of someone coming by and giving him food. He picked up his phone and switched to a different song before taking another bite. He flinched when the gravy burned his tongue, but he had to admit, it was rather delicious. He used to love eating meals like this, back when he was younger, but it had been years since he had really wasted his money on a full meal like this. He had gotten small things from McDonalds, a cheeseburger, maybe an order of fries, but it was never enough to tide him over for more than a hour or so. This, though? He was sure that he would be full until suppertime.

Alex slouched down in his seat and unlocked his phone again, only this time, rather than going to his music, he got into the internet. He wasn't entirely sure what it was that he was looking for until he realized that somehow, while he was thinking, he had managed to search "Martha Washington – murder." He knew that he was going to find a lot of media hype about what happened (George and Martha had moved to a smaller town after they had gotten married, where any news was _big_ news), but he had to know if there was at least some basis to him working George's case. If the man really had done it, and there were enough proof to back it up, then he was going to forget that any of this ever happened, that he had ever seen George again. If there wasn't solid evidence, though . . .

Alex shook his head as he clicked on the first link. He could tell just from looking at the header that the website wasn't creditable, but still, he read through the article. It talked about what had happened, almost verbatim for what George had said: Martha had gone missing, and her body had never been found. The article talked about how neighbors heard Martha getting into an argument over the phone with someone at the store the day before she went missing, and that whoever she was talking to did a number on her. She left all of her groceries sitting in the parking lot and fled, tears streaming down her cheeks and her makeup running from her cheekbones to her chin. George had been home by himself while she was gone, but a neighbor said that she had seen him arguing with someone over his phone, as well.

No one had been able to prove that they had been talking to one another (just like her body, Martha's phone was never found), and George's had conveniently gone missing that very morning. Martha had rushed straight home from the store, and the rest was history. She had missed work the next morning, something that was incredibly unusual for her, but everyone just assumed that she had gotten sick and forgotten to call in. The few times that she _had_ missed work were for when her son was sick, and in her exhaustion of being up all night, she had forgotten that she needed to call her boss and give them a heads up about her absence.

When Martha didn't show up to evening mass that night, however, people began to talk. Her sister, Naomi, stopped by the Washington household on her way home from church, and was horrified to find that the house looked like it had been ransacked. The furniture was broken and tossed around the living room, the front window was shattered, and the safe that was hidden behind a painting of the crucifixion was completely empty.

Naomi had called the cops and reported the break-in, telling the officers who arrived that there were no blood splatters or any signs of a struggle, but her sister and brother-in-law were missing. Martha's son was away at school, but he had no recollection of his mother and step-father's whereabouts, either.

Alex shook his head as he got to the end of the article. He didn't know how much of what he had just read was true, but if it really did follow the events that led to George's arrest, then he could understand why the men and women investigating the crime thought that George could have had something to do with it.

He went back to Google and went to the next article, this time reading through his options until he found one that seemed like it was from a more credible source. Normally, when he was working a case, he did everything he possibly could to avoid reading what the media said, in case it construed the way that he defended his client. With this, though . . . there wasn't much that he could do that _wouldn't_ change the way that he viewed George.

This site seemed to talk about much of the same information that the first one did, leading Alex to believe that maybe, just maybe, the non-credible details were, for once, the truth. Just like the other article, however, the article cut off before it talked about what led George to being the main suspect. In fact, as he scoured through the other articles, there was nothing that so much as _mentioned_ George's involvement in the crime.

Alex would just have to use his access to the police database back at the office.

He snorted as he realized exactly what thought it was that crossed his head. Here he was, planning things out as if he was really going to take the case. Perhaps, though, looking into the database would make that decision easier for him. If there was plenty of information, either for or against George's defense, then it would be easy for him to make his decision. Now, though, with only his gut to go off of . . . that wasn't the best way to make a knowledgeable decision.

He skimmed through one more article before closing his internet browser and deleting his search history. His stomach was being to tie itself into knots, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to finish eating. That wasn't something that he could do, especially when he still had an entire Grasshopper blizzard to eat. He forced himself to finish his chicken and gravy before starting on the ice cream so that his anxiety would have a chance to unwind, but it still felt like he was swallowing glass with every bite that he took.

He cleared his throat as he took the last bite and scooped all of the wrappers onto his tray, taking a big bite of his ice cream before going over to the trashcan and tossing the bag and paper. He took another bite of ice cream and made his way back to the car, keeping his eyes averted as Chloe started to catcall him from across the room. He hurried out of the restaurant and made his way back to his car. He got in and put the ice cream in his cup holder, staring down at it before picking it back up and getting back out of the car. By the time him and Ryker were finished, the ice cream would be nothing more than a cup of liquid green mush. The chocolate chips would be the only thing that was still good.

He took the cup over to the trashcan and threw it away, rubbing his stomach absent-mindedly as it let out an irritated growl. Maybe eating such a large processed meal wasn't the best idea, especially before he went to meet an attractive guy.

Alex glanced down at his watch. "Fuck," he muttered, realizing that he was five minutes late from the end of Ryker's shift. He stuffed his hand into his pocket and jogged back to his car, quickly jumping back in and starting the engine.

His mind would be clear of George soon enough.


	7. Chapter 7

Alex pulled up in front of a modest one-story home in a quaint neighborhood with a racing heart and a dry mouth, his leg beginning to cramp from how hard he was pushing down on the gas pedal. His heart was racing, and his head was pounding, but he _needed_ this. He needed to do something that made him focus on the _case,_ not on how attractive George looked without that layer of baby fat, and if he wasn't clear headed . . . the case would get tossed to the wayside, and George could end up spending life in prison unfairly.

He cleared his throat and let his mind drift as far away from George towards Ryker as he glanced up at the house and saw that in one of the upstairs windows, the curtain was tucked to the side and Ryker's silhouette was clearly visible in the shadows. He seemed to already be preparing himself if the bends in the shadows were any indication. Alex couldn't help but wonder if Ryker was making his movements specifically with Alex in mind, or if he had a bit of an exhibitionist streak to him.

Alex would be lying if he said the latter didn't interest him.

He slid his car into the driveway and got out, coughing uncomfortably before shoving a hand in his pocket. He clenched his other hand into a fist and made his way up to the front door. He glanced up at the window again before stepping up onto the porch, his heart race increasing as he saw a tell-tale rocking of the shadow's hips. He could feel his cock beginning to stir in his pants, and he moved his fist up to knock at the door before letting it drop back down and settle on the door knob. He gave it a small twist, his stomach warming as he felt the smooth bronze metal twist beneath his hand.

Alex took the unblocked entrance as a sign of Ryker's readiness for him, and he stepped into the house with butterflies in his stomach and the blood in his body rushing south faster than he could remember it having ever done. He cleared his throat again and twisted the hair band on his wrist before reaching up and twisting his hair into a low bun, sliding the band off his wrist with his fingertips and around the wad of hair. He strained his ears and listened for the sounds of Ryker's deep breaths and low groans, which echoed around the empty hallway.

Within a few minutes, Alex had made his way to the bedroom, his shirt and pants coming off along the way so when he stepped into the dim lights of the bedroom, all he was wearing was his olive-green undershirt and his black plaid boxers. He knocked lightly on the doorframe, capturing Ryker's attention.

Ryker, who was completely naked, smirked as he eyed Alex and propped his left foot up on the bed, leaning forward until his knee was at a 90 degree angle and put _everything_ on display for Alex's hungry eyes, from the heavy swell of his balls to the pink pucker of his rear. He had his hand wrapped around his cock, his long fingers alternating between teasing the slit and squeezing his base. He bit down on his lower lip and looked at Alex through his eyelashes. "Are you going to stay over there all day or are you going to come and help me with this?"

Alex let out a low growl and lunged forward, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pushing them down to the floor. He nearly tripped over the elastic, his cheeks lighting and his breath catching as he corrected his footing and righted his stance. He copied Ryker's expression, biting his lip and holding his breath as he lowered himself onto his knees and began his work.

An hour and a half later, Alex was back in his car, his mood sated and his hands and feet tingling.. It had been a while since he had had a proper orgasm with a partner (normally his mind drifted too much to his past relations . . . and screaming out the wrong name wasn't _exactly_ what he needed for repeat lovers), but with Ryker . . . he was totally out of his own head, and he didn't think of George _once_.

Well, at least not until it was over, and he opened his eyes to properly get a look at the man's face as he released Alex's cock from between his lips. he had all but forgotten that he was here, in the town, specifically to see George again, and that his repeat visits with Ryker would only happen if he took on George's case, and frequented the prison. If he stayed back in his comfortable suburban home near the city, he wouldn't have a reason to see Ryker again.

Ale slouched back in his seat for a moment, glancing up at the window to see that Ryker was staring down at him in a look of confusion. Alex straightened his back and gave the other man a quick wave before turning the key in the ignition and getting ready to go. He turned his shoulders and looked back before reversing, his mouth suddenly going dry as he pulled onto the street, and his breathing quickening.

Alex ignored the symptoms as long as he could, but as he swerved through the back roads and back towards the highway, it became abundantly clear that he was in the midst of an anxiety attack. It wasn't often that he had them, at least not anymore, but when they hit, they hit _hard_. He bit down on his lower lip and kept his eyes trained on the cars speeding past and around him as he took deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth, doing his best to keep them slow and languid, and not in the hyperactive rhythm his body was naturally taking.

It didn't seem to be working, however, and forty agonizing minutes after Alex had gotten onto the highway, he had to exit towards a truck stop to calm himself down. He pulled into the most secluded spot he could find and shut the engine off, leaning forward and dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. He moved his hands up so that they were next to his face, the gentle brushing of his fingertips against his cheeks a gentle weight that helped ground him. He squeezed his eyes shut and paced his breaths again, although this time, he alternated his inhalations and exhalations with moments of holding his breath. It was a technique that John, actually, had taught him back when they were dating. Alex frequently had anxiety attacks (a side effect of his time in the military), something that embarrassed him greatly, especially as he hadn't figured out how to calm himself down. He had been humiliated the first time he had one in front of John, but John was patient and talked him through it.

Alex waited until he felt like he could breathe again before reaching into the cup holder and pulling out his phone. Maybe talking to John now would help him calm down enough to make the rest of the drive home.

John answered on the third ring. "Hey, Alex. Are you back already? Damn, you drive _fast_."

Alex chuckled dryly. "No, I'm still a couple of hours away. I just . . . " He trailed off, sighing.

John picked up immediately on what he meant. "Got it. Well what did George say? Did he do it or not?"

"What do you think?"

"Innocent until proven guilty?" Alex didn't answer. "Alex, I know that you want to believe he's innocent of whatever happened, but if this case is going to be too difficult for you—"

"I don't know what to think. He was sincere in his words, and he seemed to really be distressed about his wife's death—"

"Woah, rewind. Martha's dead? How did we not hear about that? Better yet, how did _you_ not know about this?"

"I don't know, John, but that's not the point. George said that Martha committed suicide but that there's no way to prove it because her body hasn't been found yet." Alex stopped himself from reminding John of the Aaron Burr case.

John, however, knew what Alex was talking about. "Ah. So you think it might be another Burr-style murder. Is there anything you remember about George's past that could lead up to that?"

Alex shook his head before remembering that John couldn't see him. "No. Nothing."

"No practice writing with his non-dominant hand? No sudden spurts of violence?"

"Nothing that I remember."

"What about his PTSD? Did he ever react so suddenly that he hurt you, even accidently? Alex any little thing—"

" _No_ , John, there's _nothing_." Alex closed his eyes again and moved a hand up to press his fingers against his eyelids. "George and I may have had our issues, but he was never violent. Even when he'd lash out during his nightmares it would just be verbally, never physically." He took a deep breath. "Look, John, I have no idea _what_ to think. Part of me really wants him to be guilty so that I can live the rest of my life without wondering where he is, but the other part of me is puzzled as to how something like this could even happen. I just don't know what to think about all of this."

"You don't have to take the case, Alex. You did what George asked and came to see him. You don't owe him anything, and if you don't want to take his case, you don't have to say anything else or explain anything to him. If you don't want to take the case, you don't have to. Hell, you don't even have to go back and see him again, if you don't want to. He will figure out pretty quickly that you don't want anything to do with him when months go by without hearing a word from you."

"I know." Alex moved his hand to the bridge of his nose and pinched, trying to relieve some of the pressure building up behind his eyes. "I don't know what I want to do, John. I haven't the slightest fucking idea."

"Listen, just get home, and we will figure it out later. Want the guys to come over and distract you?"

Alex didn't say anything, but he could help but think of what a failure _that_ had been last time.

John, once again, knew exactly what was Alex was thinking. "Red wine and Chinese takeout?"

Alex let out a long breath. That most definitely sounded like something that could calm him down. "Definitely. See you around seven?"

"Yeah. See you then. Love you, dude."

"Love you, too." Alex pulled his phone away from his eye and dropped it onto the passenger seat without bothering to hang up, knowing that John would go ahead and take care of that. He took another few deep breaths before turning the car back on and readjusting his seating. Once he was comfortable, he pulled out of his parking spot and back onto the highway.

Nothing like three hours of open road for him to be left alone with his thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hey," Alex said, pulling open the door and stepping back. John stepped in and, without saying a word, pulled Alex into a hug. Alex sighed into the embrace, the brown bag of Chinese in John's hand warming his back and shoulders. He nestled his face into the crook of John's neck and breathed in the scent of his friend, using the soothing aroma of his cologne to calm him down.

"Hi," John answered, squeezing Alex before pulling back to hold him at arm's length, studying him for a moment before leaning in to drop a comforting kiss on his nose. "How are you holding up?"

Alex shrugged before blurting out, "I fucked one of the security guards."

John's eyes widened. "Oh?"

"Yeah." He dropped his gaze down to the floor before looking back up, moving his hand from John's back down his arm and around his wrist, the tips of his fingers pushing against John's palms and leaving indentations from his nails. He could see John grimace from the pain, but he didn't say anything, letting Alex do whatever he needed to feel better.

The men stood in the doorway for several minutes before Alex moving his fingers from John's palm to interlace with his. He pulled John over to the couch and shoved him down before taking a seat himself, taking his phone out of his pocket and tossing it onto the coffee table before putting his head on John's shoulder. His stomach was growling, but he couldn't convince himself to get out of the embrace to open the bag.

John kissed his forehead before murmuring, "So . . . a guard, huh? It went that bad?"

Alex scoffed and sat back up. "Why would it have had to have gone bad for me to have sex? Maybe the guard was just really hot."

John raised an eyebrow and looked at Alex through his lashes, his nose crinkling and the corner of his lip twitching as he struggled not to make too insulting of a comment. "You always fuck someone after you get news about George. I just figured that you'd do the same after actually seeing him. Let out some of the sexual tension and whatnot."

Alex sniffed and grit his teeth. "So I'm a slag, that's what you're saying?"

John tilted his head forward. "Do you really have to ask me that?"

"Jesus, John, I asked you to come over so that I could talk about today and figure out what I want to do about the case, not get a fucking guilt trip about what a whore I am."

"What use would I be as your best friend if I didn't give you a hard smack into reality? I'm just saying, I know seeing George was hard on you, so don't question why I'm not more surprised that you fucked a guard. Hell, I put condoms and lube in your car for that exact reason."

"Wait, what? Really?" Alex hadn't even noticed they were there. He blew out another breath and shook his head. "Never mind. That doesn't matter."

"Well, was he hot at least?"

"George or the guard?"

"The guard, duh. I know what George looks like; he couldn't be any less attractive to me if he had tentacles growing out of his forehead. But if the guard was hot, hey, maybe then I could condone you going back out there to see George again, if you were getting a hot piece of ass on the side."

"How do you know I'm going to go see him again? Maybe I'll just do what you said earlier and let months go by without contacting him again. It'd serve him right."

"Because you're Alexander Hamilton, and you could never say 'no' when George Washington was involved." He adjusted his hips so that he was facing Alex. "So. Was he hot or not?"

"Yes, he was. Very much so." Alex reached over and picked his phone back up from the coffee table. He opened up his messages and went to the thread that Ryker had started halfway through Alex's drive home. There weren't any words, but Ryker's pictures more than spoke for himself: he wanted a repeat of today.

Alex stared at the close-up of the man's cock before opening the picture that showed his full body, the close-up included. He was standing the same way that he was when Alex walked into the bedroom, his foot propped up against the bed and putting everything on display. He was completely naked, and was facing the full-length mirror that was on his closet door. The picture was taken in the mirror with enough light that _everything_ was on perfect display.

Alex swallowed thickly at the arousal that rushed south before turning the phone around and handing it to John. John's eyes widened and his mouth began to gape, his tanned cheeks darkening as his eyes moved over the image.

"Damn, Alex, I definitely can't say that I blame you on this one. Think he'd be up for a three-some?"

"That depends. Are you going to go with me the next time I talk to George?"

"Do I have to help prove his 'innocence' or can I just eat my 'lunch' in the break room with Mr. Huge-Cock here?" Alex gave John a look. John looked at him and chuckled before turning his attention back on the picture, his eyes getting darker as he used his index finger and his thumb to zoom in. Alex rolled his eyes and took the phone from him, clicking it off and tossing it onto the adjacent chair before John had a chance to take it back. "That wasn't very nice. I was enjoying that."

"Clearly." He nodded down at the slight tent that had begun to form in John's khakis. John spread his legs and thrust up gently, gesturing with his hands down towards his crotch. Alex rolled his eyes and moved back on the couch, pulling his legs up under himself and pointing towards the Chinese food. "Calm your libido down and get my fed."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." He grabbed the bag and opened it, giving the phone another longing glance before pulling out a pair of chopsticks and one of the takeout boxes. He opened it and studied it for a moment before handing it to Alex. "Here. Shrimp lo mein."

"Thanks." Alex took the chopsticks from John and scooped a bit of the noodles up into his mouth. He chewed slowly and let the flavor of the shrimp coat his tongue, reminding him of the Caribbean food that his mother used to make when he was a child. "In all seriousness, though, I really don't know what to do about this whole George situation. Do I take on his case or do I let it slide? I want him to have a fair trial, really, but I don't know if that's something that I can do without any bias. Half of me wants him to really be innocent, but the other half of me is hoping that he's guilty and deserves to spend the rest of his life in prison. I mean, I don't want him there if he's telling the truth, but I just . . . " He trailed off, shaking his head and taking another bite of his food.

John ate a few pieces of his sweet and sour chicken before speaking. "I understand what you mean, Alex. He broke your heart, and now you have the chance to break his." He stared down at the container in his hand before looking back at Alex. "Look, Alex, I didn't want you going there in the first place, you know that. But now that you've gone and seen him again, I don't think that you're going to be able to live with yourself if you don't at least give him another chance to prove himself to you."

Alex didn't say anything. He tried to eat more, but at John's words, he found that his appetite had suddenly failed him. He used one of the chop sticks to swirl the noodles around and the other to stab at the shrimp. Deep down, he knew that John was right, but all the hopes that he had about getting closure from winning the case were beginning to fade away. He no longer felt like he was still madly in love, and all of his feelings for George had grown to nothing more than a few dim sparks over the years, but if they spent enough time together . . . who knew where Alex's feelings would go.

John must of read all of this in Alex's face, as he stared at him for a moment before going into the kitchen and grabbing Alex's laptop. He brought it back in, opening it and typing in Alex's password (they always knew each other's passwords; it was a habit they had gotten into when they were boyfriends and one they didn't break after they went their separate ways). He went to his email and downloaded a file before turning the computer so that Alex could see, as well. "I went ahead and did a search through the databases while you were out there, just in case. I emailed everything to you so that we could look over them and make a decision together. Is that all right?"

Alex still didn't say anything, but he nodded. He put his feet back on the floor and watched as John opened the first of the files. The image was so grainy that, at first, Alex couldn't make out what he was looking at, but when John hit a few buttons under the "view" tab, it became clear that he was looking at a missing persons report. However, instead of Martha, it was a report about _George_ missing that he was looking at. It was issued by a Naomi Curtis on October 8, 2015, and stated that she had come to her sister and brother-in-law's house to find it a mess. She wrote the it had been weeks since she had seen him last, but she knew that he had been home the morning before, as she heard her sister and him talking that very morning when Martha and she were on the phone.

John set the file to Alex's printer before closing it out and opening up another file. This was another missing persons file, although _this_ was the one devoted to Martha Washington. Naomi was clearly a lot more worried about her sister than she was about her brother-in-law. Rather than a single page, this file was nearly _ten_ pages, and listed every little detail about Martha's prior whereabouts, from her daily schedule to where in the house she was the last time that Naomi spoke to her on the phone.

On the last page, there was an image of George and Martha. It was one that George had seen before in one of his research-binges. The happy couple was sitting out a hunter-green loveseat in what looked to be the living room of a log cabin. George had his arm around Martha, his dark chocolate skin contrasting with Martha's peaches-and-cream complexion. Martha's hair was flowing down around her shoulders and she had a large smile on her face, one hand on George's knee and the other on the head of some fluffy, white animal at her side. It was Christmastime, the branches of the large spruce tree behind them hanging low, heavy with ornaments and fairy lights.

John printed that document as well before closing it, reaching over and squeezing Alex's thigh before pulling up a document that was made up strictly of pictures. These, Alex recognized immediately. Just like the article said, George and Martha's house most definitely looked as though a crime had been committed there. There were papers all of the floor, the couch cushions and throw pillows were torn to shreds and scatted around the living room and kitchen like a textile avalanche, and the white linoleum of the kitchen and bathrooms were littered with crimson dots. In one corner of the kitchen, there was a large puddle of blood next to a broken butcher's knife, a few strands of blonde hair visible in the close-up shot of the goo. Behind the red, splintered pieces of glass glinting and half-obscuring the broken frame and torn portrait from George and Martha's wedding.

John paused on the wedding picture before hitting the next button, exiting when he realized that _that_ was the last image. He started to open the next file but Alex stopped him, putting his hand over John's. John looked up at him. "Do you want to stop looking?"

Alex shook his head. "No. I just . . . John, what should I do?" His cheeks colored at the small, vulnerable tone that his voice took on. "These pictures . . . something bad obviously happened in that house. What if George really did all of that? What if he really did kill her?"

"Alex, that's not for us to figure out. All that you have to worry about is whether or not you are making the _jury_ think that he killed her or not." He turned his hand over an interlaced their fingers. "Do you want to keep looking at the files or do you want to take a break?"

Alex hesitated. "I can't take a break. I have to figure out what to do."

John nodded. "Okay then. We will continue on." He let go of Alex's hand and put his fingers back on the mouse pad. "Here. This file looks like it's about George's arrest." He opened it and skimmed through the first page before his face lit up. He pointed to a line near the bottom of the page, drawing Alex's attention to it. "There! Our first crack."

Alex leaned forward and read the line aloud. "'Washington was last seen at ten-forty the night of October the fifth at Magnesium's Tavern on the corner of Fifth and North Alms. The bartender said Washington drunk several pints of beer in the hour that he was present. He had not consumed any food to go along with his drink, and left the establishment by himself. He was on the phone arguing with someone. He got into a cab and told the man to take him home. The cab driver has yet to be identified'. Okay, and? John, this doesn't tell us anything, other than that George didn't see anyone for two days before Martha and his disappearance. How does this help us?"

"If we find the cabbie, we can talk to him and see who it was that George was arguing with. Even if he doesn't remember exactly what George was talking about, I know all the cab companies north of here keep a recorder in the meter to ensure that the customer is paying the correct fee. We will get a warrant and listen in, and maybe it'll give us some sort of a hint about George's alibi."

Alex waved his hand at the computer screen as he scrolled through the information. "He doesn't have an alibi. Look." He pointed to the third paragraph on the fourth page. "'Washington was found the morning of October the tenth in a small inn in Queens. According to the guest logs, he arrived on October eighth in the early afternoon. Security footage showed red stains on his clothing as he entered the establishment. Said clothes have not been located yet. His location between the fifth and the eighth are unknown'. It doesn't seem that he _has_ an alibi."

"That stain could have been anything." He pointed to a stain on Alex' shirt, dark-red from a past incident with strawberries. "Maybe he just dropped a lot of strawberries on himself. I remember how clumsy he used to be; it's not that far of a stretch."

"I don't know, John . . . the signs just point against him."

"Isn't it our job to take those signs and turn them the other way?"

"I guess." Alex gave the computer a lingering look before he took it out of John's hand. He closed the lid and put the laptop back on the coffee table. "Why are you trying to convince me to help him, anyway? You hate him."

John grimaced, his lips pursing into a straight line and his eye brows furrowing. He shrugged. "I know you, Alex, and I know—well, _knew_ George. I really don't think he's capable of committing such a crime, but Alex, even if I did think he did it, I would encourage you to try and help him. It's going to tear you up inside if you don't give this your best shot. I mean, I know that you'll be disappointed in yourself if you fight to defend him and the jury turns against him, but if some other lawyer is put on his defense and doesn't give him a fair trial? You'll never forgive yourself."

He leaned forward and gave Alex a gentle kiss, putting his hand on Alex's jaw. He used his thumb to caress the skin and leaned their foreheads together. "Alex, I love you, and I'll do anything to make you happy. It was true years ago, and it's still true now." He closed his eyes for a moment before locking his gaze on Alex's. He bit his lip and sat back, dropping Alex's hands and turning to look at the computer.

Alex's eyes widened as he took in the way that John was sitting. "You mean that you . . . " He trailed off, his mouth gaping. "After all this—"

"No!" John held his hands up defensively and turned back to face Alex. "I didn't mean it like that. I love you, but I'm not _in_ love with you. I just . . . Alex, you're the best friend I've got. George broke your heart once, but _he_ was the one who reached out to you. No matter what happens with this case, this could be your shot at being truly happy again. I've seen more emotion in you in the week since you've opened the letter than I have in the past five years. Do _not_ throw away your shot."


	9. Chapter 9

The next Saturday, Alex and John left Alex's house at six o'clock on the dot. They got on the highway a little after six-thirty, and by seven, they were slurping down frappes and chewing on McMuffins as they sped off towards the prison. John was driving and Alex was sitting in the passenger seat with the Manila folder of case files on his lap. He had spent the last week combing through all of the police reports, and he wasn't any closer to figuring out whether or not George was guilty, nor had he found any leads on the missing cabbie.

He cleared his throat and adjusted the way he was sitting. He looked over at John before looking back at the folder, flipping the cover back and skimming over the page again. "So, what exactly am I looking for again?" he asked, picking up the paper and rubbing it between his fingers.

John glanced over at him with a tilt of his head, his eyebrows raised and his lips pursed. "Seriously, Alex? This isn't our first rodeo with this thing."

"I know that, John, but cut me a little slack here. This is George we're talking about." He put the paper back onto his lap and closed the folder before leaning forward to put it into his messenger bag. He sat back up and shifted his hips, pressing his back against the door so he was facing John. "I'm at a loss, here."

"I know you are, but hey," he put on his blinker as he got into the exit for the prison, "we still have a little less than six months to figure all this out. We don't have to have all the answers right now."

Alex nodded, but he didn't say anything until the prison was in view. He directed John on where to park, his heart rate increasing as John shut the car off. He coughed and shimmied into the seat, desperately hoping that if he moved slowly enough, the seat would consume him whole.

John rolled his eyes and reached over to unbuckle Alex before unbuckling himself and opening the car door. He stepped out and paused before turning back around, putting a hand on the roof of the car and leaning down to look through at Alex. "Are you coming or am I going to have to seduce Ryker all by myself?"

Now it was Alex's turn to roll his eyes. In all of the stress of bringing John to see George, he had totally forgotten about the main reason why John wanted to come along. He had managed to finagle Ryker's number out of Alex's phone, and had been texting him almost constantly since Monday night. "You'll seduce him by yourself, anyway. Or were those pictures you sent him this morning just a camera slip?"

John flushed. "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice breaking and his hand shaking as he moved it up to cup the back of his neck.

Alex blinked, momentarily thankful to have his thoughts turned away from George. "We share an iCloud, remember? And you, dear Laurens, have your phone set to automatically upload *all* of your images."

John flushed harder, and he bit his lip before standing up straight. He stared at the prison for a moment before leaning back down, sticking his head into the car. "Come on. We drove all this way; you're not pussying out on me now."

Alex groaned in annoyance, but he unbuckled his seat belt, anyway. He got out of the car and grabbed his messenger bag. He put it over his shoulder and stood up straight, pulling at his tie and staring at his reflection in the window. He messed with his hair, and straightened his belt buckle, doing anything he could do to stall.

"Come on, pretty boy, there's nothing else you can do. You look plenty professional." Alex ignored him, and kept adjusting his shirt. John let out a low growl and walked around the car, grabbing Alex's elbow and pulling him away from the car. Alex began to protest, but John ignored him, continuing to pull on his arm until they reached the entrance to the prison.

Just like the previous Saturday, there were families and significant others wandering throughout the parking lot and waiting in line to pass through the metal detectors. There seemed to be more visitors this time, as the line was all the way out the door.

Fortunately, John and Alex didn't have to wait. Ryker was guarding the detectors, and as soon as he saw the men, he ushered them to the front of the line. He smiled at Alex before his eyes turned to John, locking on him and scanning the length of his body. "Hey, you," he said, rocking back on his heel and popping his hip out to the side, making his already-snug uniform pants mold to his round rear and strong, shapely legs.

Alex knew the greeting was not for him, so he simply nodded while John took a step closer to Ryker. "Hey, yourself."

Ryker bit his lip seductively and winked before gesturing with his head towards the hallway Alex had used last time. "Care to keep me company while your friend here goes and works with his client? I'm sure your inmate doesn't need both of you to talk to him if right away." He stepped away from John to let the next visitor through before moving back into his space. "I promise it'll excite the both of us more." He winked again.

John's eyes darkened, and it was clear that he was considering taking Ryker up on his offer. Alex quickly put a stop to that, however, by grabbing John's wrist and gently tugging him away from the other man. "Come on, John, I'm sure you two will have plenty of time to hang out once Ryker's shift is over."

John looked disappointed, but he didn't argue with Alex. He gave Ryker an apologetic look before following to the start of the hallway, where another guard was waiting to take the pair to the consulting rooms.

Neither John nor Alex said anything as they walked down the hallway, but as soon as they got into the room and the guard had left, John crossed his arms and gave Alex a mock-glare. "I was trying to talk to the future Mr. Laurens, asshole."

Alex raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Whatever you say, John. Like I said you two will have *plenty* of time to fuck around once we finish up here. Right now we need to focus on George. Hell, I'll even go look for the cabbie before we go back so Ryker and you can put some of that sexual energy aside and actually *focus* for once."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I focus plenty, thank you very much." He shrugged his suit jacket off and collapsed down onto the chair, interlacing his fingers over his stomach and kicking his feet, the soles of his shoes scuffing against the concrete floor. "Where is this guy, anyway? Aren't inmates on, like, a time schedule or some shit? Or is this prison beneath federal guidelines?"

Alex sighed and sat down next to John, glancing up at the door before picking up his messenger bag and pulling out the folder. He took out the missing person reports, as well as the pictures, and turned them around so that George would be able to easily see them when he came in. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. "We still technically have three minutes until visiting hours start."

Before John had time to respond, however, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," Alex said softly, his palms beginning to sweat. He wiped them off on his pants as the guard led George in.

Just like the last visit, the guard restated his three-knock policy before pushing George down into the chair opposite Alex and John and leaving the room. George, who was clearly not expecting to see John, cleared his throat uncomfortably and lifted his cuffed hands to scratch at his nose. John stared at him with a mixture of disdain and professional interest, while George simply looked frightened and anxious as he greeted the two men.

"Uhm, hello, Alex, hello, John," he said, sucking his lower lip in between his teeth and biting down on it. His eyes shifted around, and he fidgeted for a few seconds before he caught sight of the first of the photographs. "That's my house," he said quietly, leaning forward and running his fingers over the broken frame in the kitchen photo. "I never got to see it after I was arrested. I wasn't aware how badly it was disturbed."

"You mean you didn't know it had been ransacked?" John asked, his voice coming out forced as he tried to keep any past anger towards George at bay. He moved his folded hands up onto the table and rocked forward until they held much of his weight. "The files all say that you were arrested that afternoon a few towns over from here."

George nodded. "Yes."

"Why weren't you at home? You can see why the detectives thought it was suspicious, you being 'away' when she was murdered and all."

George frowned, and Alex kicked John in the shin. When he looked over, Alex narrowed his eyes at him for being so crass before turning back to face George. "What John is *trying* to ask," he began, pausing when John kicked him back, "is if you have an alibi, maybe something you forgot about when the detectives on your case started investigating you. Maybe something that came back to you over the last few months." He moved the missing persons report into the center before pointing at the "last seen" section. "Where were you between here and when they found you?"

George's frown deepened, and he shook his head. "I don't know. The last thing I remember is getting into an argument with Lawrence, and then I woke up in a cell." Lawrence was George's older brother. "I've tried to rack my brain, tried to figure out how all of this happened, but I haven't the foggiest. It's like I blocked out that entire week."

John and Alex looked at one another. If George was telling the truth, making the case in his favor wasn't going to be easy. They would have to dig deeper into the evidence to make things right.

Alex cleared his throat. "Was there any ill feelings between Martha and you near the end? Anything that would have made the police suspicious of you? I mean, finding you in another town wasn't exactly great, but it didn't make you the prime suspect, either. Was there any blood on your clothing? Shards of glass in your skin?"

At first, George didn't answer. He stared down at the table and furrowed his brows, his teeth sinking harder into his lip. Alex was beginning to feel sick about the whole thing, his own suspicion about George growing the longer that the three men sat in silence. John seemed to be worried, too, his eyes widening and his left foot tapping out an irregular pattern onto the floor.

Eventually, though, George began to speak. "No, there wasn't any ill feelings between us before she died. Things were going really well, actually-JP just started his second year at college, he had a 3.9 gpa and had been on the deans list twice; my produce was selling exceptionally well, and I had just finished building my boat; Martha's boutique had received a five-star review in the local newspaper . . . no one had any problems with us."

"And you still think she committed suicide?" George nodded. John tapped on the table for a moment before pulling out his notepad and a pen. "Why do you think that?"

Again, George seemed to be thinking through his answer before responding. He twiddled his thumbs and rocked in his seat before saying, "Martha suffered from depression for most of her life. She's been in and out of hospitals when things got bad. She tried to take her life on three different occasions since we began dating . . . when the police officers finally told me what my supposed crime was, I just knew that she had finally gone through with it."

Unlike the first time George talked about Martha with Alex, there were no tears brimming his eyes. His hands were shaking and his jaw was clenched, but he looked more aggravated than he did heartbroken.

John scribbled down a few notes on his paper pad before asking another question. Alex was beginning to really appreciate having John there. He wasn't sure he would have been able to led a solid discussion, especially when all he could do was study George's reactions and try and rationalize the case to himself. "How did she try to kill herself?"

"Pills, car accident, with a noose."

"What caused her failures? Are you sure she wasn't just trying to garnish some attention, maybe trying to seem vulnerable to make herself more desirable?"

George clenched his hands into fists and continued to bore holes through the table. "No. My wife was not like that. She was a good woman."

"But she did fail at her attempts three times. Maybe that meant she didn't really want to die. Maybe she just-"

"Look, John, I know Alexander asked you to help him tolerate me until my trial, but I deserve more than you making assumptions about my wife," George interrupted, his eyes flashing with anger as he looked up at John. "We were friends once, Laurens. At least give me a fair fucking chance."

John raised his hands in defense, his palms facing George and his fingers splayed. He leaned back in chair as his eyebrows shot straight up. "Listen, man, these are the kinds of questions that are going to get brought up in trial. You want a chance at walking? Then man the fuck up and answer my questions as concisely as you can. Getting defensive and angry and shit? That just makes you look guilty." He leaned back forward. "But hey, that's your call. We're not friends anymore. I couldn't give less of a fuck about whether you win the case or not if I tried."

George's eyes were still flashing in anger, although now he was looking back and forth between Alex and John. Alex was too overwhelmed to speak, but it was clear from the way that George's eyes were darkening that he expected the younger man to step up and defend him. When he didn't, George grit his teeth and kicked the leg of the table, making Alex jump.

"Goddamit, what do I have to do to make you guys treat me like a human being again? I messed up, I know I did, but John, I always thought that we clicked, and Alex, I know you're never going to forgive me for what I did to you, but you're the only chance I got. Getting a decent lawyer in a town this small? *Everyone* thinks I murdered Martha; there's not a single lawyer willing to take my case! You say you're 'prepping' me, but I can read it in your eyes that you actually believe I could be capable of murder. Unbelievable."

George finished his rant with a heavy breath, his shoulders sagging and his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to calm down. John was still wearing an expression of anger, but the way he was holding himself, perched on the edge of his seat and slightly curling into himself, showcased his own guilt. He sat there for a moment before standing up and walking to the door. He knocked on it thrice, and when the guard opened it, stormed out of the room with a trail of papers following behind him.

As the guard pushed all the papers back into the room with his foot, Alex cleared his throat and tried to turn the discussion back to the case. His voice was raspy when he spoke, and it succeeded in making the tension in the air feel even thicker. "You didn't answer my question earlier. Why do the police think *you* did it? It'd be normal for your DNA to be on her, or for your fingerprints to be in the house, so that's not why. There has to be another reason."

George let out a breath through his nose and closed his eyes, counting to ten before speaking. "Yes, there was blood on my clothing when the police found me, and yes, some of it was Martha's, but most of it was mine." He sat up straight and moved his hands to his collar, slipping his fingers under the fabric and stretching it out as far as he could to show a puckered scar along his collar bone. "I was bleeding from here. I have no idea what caused it."

"Do you remember why you didn't go to work that day? Why you didn't call anyone?"

"I told you, I don't remember anything up until I woke up in a cell. Not a detail, not a sight, sound, anything. It's like I blinked and days went by." He closed his eyes and frowned again, letting out a small whimper before looking back at Alex, his voice coming out as a whisper. "Alex, I don't know what happened to Martha, or why I can't remember anything. I know you don't understand but I'm terrified. There's no way I could do anything to Martha, I know myself well enough to know that, but . . . if I didn't do anything wrong, why do I not remember?"

Alex sighed and shook his head before standing and gathering the papers off the floor. He put them into a stack before taking them to the table, bouncing them against the wood until all the edges lined up. "I don't know, George, but John and I will do whatever it takes to prove your innocence." He picked up his folder and John's notebook and packed them away, grabbing both bags and throwing them over his shoulder before looking back at George. "I'll come back next Saturday, all right?"

George didn't answer. Alex stares at him for a moment before going to the door and knocking three times.

Winning this case definitely was not going to be easy.


	10. Chapter 10

"What the fuck was that about?" Alex exclaimed when he finally found John, sitting in the department break room with Ryker.

John jumped, his eyes going wide as he looked at Alex. He sat up straight and twiddled his fingers, glancing at Ryker before looking back at Alex. He coughed and swallowed hard before looking at Ryker again. "Rain check? I'll come down this weekend, maybe, and we can spend some time together?"

Ryker nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good." He smiled, his cheeks flushing a pale pink.

John's cheeks were pink, too. He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck before hesitation, taking a step towards Ryker to kiss him hesitantly on the cheek before walking over to Alex. Alex narrowed his eyes at him and turned on his heel, walking down the hallway and out of the facility before John had a chance to get a word in edgewise.

Alex made it all the way to the car before he stopped, getting in an slamming the door. He put his hands over his stomach and glared through the windshield, gritting his teeth back and forth. John was slower getting to the car, but when he did, he got in and stared out the windshield, too.

For several minutes the men were silent, but eventually John said, "Look, I know what it looked like in there, but Alex, we have to go into this case open-minded. I know you don't want to believe George could do something like this, but that could be your feelings getting in the way-"

"Oh really?" Alex looked at John before looking away again. "If I remember correctly, you're the one who agreed to come out here with me. If you are already convinced that George really killed her, then why the fuck did you come along?"

"Alex, I _don't_ think that he did it, but those questions I asked him? They are the same things Martha's family lawyer are going to ask him. It's not any different than any other case we have done."

"I understand that, but we aren't prepping him for trial, yet! We are still trying to figure out what we are going to to prove his innocence. We can't do that if we've made him too spooked to speak!" He blew out a breath and looked forward. "Maybe this was a mistake bringing you out here with me."

"Whatever, Alex." John started the car and shook his head, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath. He pulled of the parking spot and circled around to the main road. He pulled out his phone and typed something into his GPS app, coughing once as he adjusted his seat and attached his phone to the holder on his dashboard.

Alex wasn't completely sure where they were going, but he couldn't find it in himself to ask. He was still very annoyed with John, even though he knew he was right. Martha's family was incredibly wealthy, and they would hold no expense when it came to convincing their daughters supposed killer, which reminded Alex that he needed to figure out if his help was pro-Bono or if he was going to eventually charge George a fee.

Alex didn't normally charge his friends, but George was a special case.

 _Oh_. So _that's_ why George contacted them. With Martha gone, George didn't have any financial stability left. Sure, his fruit stand had been going decently (okay, maybe he had done more than just a little digging this past week), but now that he was in prison, Alex was sure that the money had run out. Of course he wasn't going to go with some other lawyer, the court would appointment someone who just saw him as another case. With everyone already against him, George was sure to get the short end of the stick.

Alex slouched down in his seat and pulled his feet up onto the seat. He stared out the window for a minute before noticing one of the signs that they passed. "Wait, where are we going?" he asked, glancing at John's GPS before looking at the street signs again.

"To find the cabby." His voice was still tight, but he didn't sound as agitated as he had when they had gotten into the car. His phone beeped as they made another turn.

"We passed the cab rental on our way to the prison. This isn't the right direction." He looked around, trying to see if anything looked even remotely familiar. Nothing did.

John shook his head. "Even a town this small has more than one taxi service, and apparently George liked to used the lesser-known company."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

A tense silence fell back over the duo, until they reached a parking lot on the edge of a small, decrepit building. The chipped red paint of the exterior walls were covered in ivy, and the bricks were beginning to crumble. The white lines dividing up spots between the cars were nothing more than dots of white, and there were more potholes than actual solid ground cluttering the lot.

The cabs, too, had clearly seen better days, the once-shiny silver fenders and bumpers were coated in rust. Several of the vehicles had deep dents and scratches running along both sides, and nearly half the license plates were missing numbers and letters, or missing entirely.

John pulled into a spot near the front of the building. He wrinkled his nose and twisted his mouth up at the corner. "I'd say this place doesn't quite meet their fire code."

"No, I'd daresay not." Alex unbuckled and put his Hand on the door handle. He pushed it open and put his right foot on the ground before asking, "And why do you think this is the right cabby shop again?"

"I asked Ryker about it. I guess he's friendly with some of the higher-ups, so he was able to dig up some of the notes that the detectives wrote when they were vetting George. This is the place they came up with."

"But I thought the file said that the couldn't find the cab driver from that night." Alex pulled his foot back into the car and shut the door, his brows furrowing and the corners of his mouth turning down as he looked at John.

John nodded. "Yeah, I thought so, too." He reached towards the back seats and grabbed his messenger bag. He wrapped the strap around his hand and lifted it up, pulling it onto his lap to pull out a folder. He tossed his bag back onto the seat and opened the folder, skimming over a document for a moment before holding it out to Alex. He pointed to a line on the third page. "There. It says that three people were working on the night George was last seen: Martin Grospill, Lenny Shepard, and Jayme Martinez." He tapped on the employee pictures as he spoke.

Alex looked over the images and nodded. He reached over and took the file from John's hands, looking it over himself and trying to memorize the features of the men he was looking for. "Do all three still work here?"

"I have no idea. Ryker couldn't tell me that much."

Alex nodded again and stared down at the pictures, hoping that something would stick out to him, but nothing did. He couldn't remember ever seeing any of these men's faces in the millions of mug shots he had looked at over the years, but he knew that that most definitely didn't mean that they weren't in the system, somehow.

The first file was that of Martin Grospill, a young man who barely looked as though he was out of his teens. He had curly chestnut hair and squinty hazel eyes, his lids puffy and dark. There was a scar across his right cheek bone, and the two-tones of his upper lip shows that he had, at some point, had surgery for a cleft palate. His file said that he had been working at the cab company for just two weeks before George had disappeared, but his current work status was unknown.

The next image, Lenny Shepard, showed a withering old African-American man, the soft folds of his skin hanging in globs off his bones. His lips were stuck in a permanent pout, his heavy cheeks framing the edges and showcasing the powerful contrast between his dark-chocolate skin and his purple-tinted lips. His hair still had some color to it, but white was streaked through the black. Just like Grospill, his status was unknown.

Alex scoffed. "What good are these files if none of them can tell us if these guys are still around or not?" He flipped through the pages of the report again before tossing it onto the top of the folder with a sound of disgust. He sunk down in his seat and closed his eyes, leaning his head against the headrest.

Alex kept his eyes shut as John picked up the file, but he could hear him rifling through pages. He was letting out small, agitated breaths as he read, as well as tapping his fingers on the center console.

After a few minutes, however, John seemed to find something as he muttered, "There we go!" before pushing at Alex's shoulder.

Alex cracked an eye open and looked over, his stomach clenching as though rocks were being dropped in his gut. "Find something?"

John picked up the last picture and held it towards the windshield before pointing directly behind it. "Anyone look familiar?"

Alex opened his other eye and sat up, following John's finger towards the building until he saw a group of men spilling out the front door wearing nothing but muscle shirts and jumpsuits, the arms tied around their waists in makeshift belts. Sure enough, when he looked back at the picture, one of the men near the front of the ground was a perfect match to the file.

Jayme Martinez was a young Latino with short, curly black hair and a deep mocha complexion. He had strong arms and an abdomen so toned that Alex could see the ripples of his muscle shirt with ease from across the parking lot.

"Is that our man?" he asked, shifting in his seat and straining his neck as he studied Jayme from afar.

John, too, stared at the man before responding. "We might as well talk to him. Even if he _isn't_ George's driver, maybe he heard something that could help us make our case." He put the papers back in the folder before tossing it into the back seat with just enough finesse that the files did not spill out.

Alex shook his head as he opened the car door and stepped back out, this time getting all the way to his feet before having second thoughts. He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked onto the balls of his feet, all professional pretenses leaving him as John and he walked across the parking lot.

The men began to catcall and tease as Alex and John got closer, but they were easy enough to avoid, especially when Alex only had one thing on his mind: talk to Martinez.

Before Alex had a chance to latch on to the handsome man, however, John cleared his throat, waving at the group with a plastic smile on his face. "Hello, gentlemen. How are you all doing today?"

One of the men, a heavy set and balding clout, stepped forward with an eyebrow raised and his lip quirked up to bare his teeth. He crossed his arms over his stomach and stuck his belly out. "Something you need, boy?"

John, who was more than used to "intimidating" personnel, took the initiative to hold back Alex's attack, stepping forward and grinned his most charming smile, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops and rocking forward. He ducked his chin and waved his hand, giving a mock bow. "Actually yes, there is. My name is John Laurens, and my associate, here, is Alexander Hamilton. We are the attorneys of George Washington, and we are here to figure out what exactly happened on the night that he went missing. We have learned that the last place he was seen was in one of your cabs. Do you have any information for me?"

The man moved his arms up from his belly to his chest and leaned to the side, letting out a slimy trail of spit into the dusty gravel parking lot before looking back up at John. "What are you going to give us if we have anything? Our words don't come for cheap."

"Oh? It wouldn't warm your hearts to know that you could help an innocent man walk free again? Keep him out of prison for a crime that he didn't commit?"

"It's not my crime."

"That might be true, but Alex and I are two of the best lawyers in the state. Who knows when you might need us on your side." He winked, stepping forward again. Alex took a step too, although his was to the side as another one of the men spat on the ground.

The man chuckled before smirking and shaking his head. "No information here. Come on, boys, let's get back inside and finish our poker game." He turned on his heel and walked back inside, several of the men immediately tossing their cigarette butts onto the ground and following him without a moment's hesitation. They kept their eyes averted and acted like John wasn't' there as he walked forward, as though he was going to follow the men inside.

Before he could make it all the way to the doorframe, however, two of the men, Martinez and another man with long to looked to be just as young, came back outside and held their hands up to block John's entry. John raised an eyebrow at them. "You know, I could just get a warrant to come in and search the facilities. Even if I don't find any information on that night, I'm sure I could find something that would make your dear boss there regret acting so indifferent towards us."

The new man shook his head before gently pushing John off the stoop and back onto the gravel before stepping down next to him. "There's no need to threaten our coworkers. Jayme and I will tell you everything we know, no questions asked. We both . . . _knew_ George, and we don't want to see him locked up for this when he couldn't have done it."

Alex and John looked at each other before nodding. Alex immediately started to move towards Martinez with the intent to grill him down to the very last word, but the new man moved quicker, taking his place at Alex's side and getting close enough to his personal boundaries to let Alex know he meant business. Alex gave John a pleading look, but John simply shrugged, saying, "Divide and conquer, and we will talk about what we both learned back at the office," before grabbing Martinez by the arm and dragging him off to the corner of the parking lot. The man began to walk away, too, so Alex squared his shoulders and followed him.

Once the new man stopped moving, Alex took a few seconds to properly look him over and see exactly who it was that he was dealing with. Like Martinez, this man was Latino, but he looked like he was in his late teens rather than his twenties. He had long, dark hair that was already sprinkled with strands of gray that went down to his mid-chest, the thick strands contained in a single plait that he had thrown over one shoulder. He had a thick goatee and dark eyes, as well as thick eyebrows that were so close together that they nearly met in the middle.

Shockingly, he was nearly identical to what Alex looked like when he was that age. For a moment, Alex wracked his mind to think if there was any possibility of him having any other children or siblings that he didn't know about before realizing how absurd that thought was. Eliza was the only woman he had ever slept with, and his both of his parents had passed away without having any children after him.

Alex coughed, realizing that he had been silent for much too long. "So," he began, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, "I guess we should start by you telling me your name," he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his travel notebook and a pencil, "and what exactly it is that you saw or heard on that last night before they found George."

The man lifted his hand up to rub the back of his neck, his eyes shifting back and forth as he chewed on his lip nervously. "Uhm, my name is Michael Martinez. I'm Jayme's younger brother," he added when he saw Alex glance over at the other duo of men suspiciously. "And, uhm, I don't know anything about that night, but . . . I know something about George in general."

Alex nodded and scribbled that down on the notepad. It wasn't exactly what he was looking for, but it would do. "Okay. Go ahead."

"George and I, he, uh . . . " Michael trailed off, scratching his neck again. His voice was quivering, and he kept looking around the parking lot like someone was after him. He bit his lip and coughed before speaking again, his eyes flickering to Alex. "Look, uh, before I tell you, I just gotta ask—are you the same Alexander Hamilton that George was so hung up on?"

Alex's eyes widened, and he felt his throat grow tight as a wave of panic surged up. Did Michael know George so well that their relationship would come up, even when he wouldn't reveal it to his family and closest friends? "I don't know what you're talking about. George and my relationship is strictly professional." He tried to sound confident, but he knew that his voice was shaky and breathy, and he doubted that Michael believed him.

Sure enough, Michael let out a small laugh before shaking his head. "Yeah, he said that he broke your heart." Unlike Alex's, his voice was growing more steady as he became more sure of himself, rocking onto his toes and presenting himself in a more confident way. "Look, man, what I'm about to say might change the way you think about George, so I don't want it to affect the way you represent him, but—George and I slept together, frequently."

All the moisture was suddenly gone from Alex's mouth. "Oh. And—and how did that begin?" He poised his pen above the paper.

Michael thought for a moment before answering. "It was three or four years ago, not too long after Martha and he moved here. We were friends, at first, but then things just evolved—he talked about you all the same. Accidently said your name in bed, once, and things just kind of escaladed from there—I guess I just look too much like you for the memories or feelings to really fade, you know?"

Alex _did_ know. Jesus. Was this conversation really happening? "Did—did Martha have any idea what was going on? Was there anything about your relationship that would have caused her to commit suicide?"

Michael, who had started looking over at his brother and John again, snapped his eyes back quicker than an overstretched rubber band. "Alex—can I call you Alex?—Martha was the one that introduced us. Some date was coming up that I guess was important to you two, anniversary, break up day, I don't know, but he was a wreck about it, and he went out and got stone-faced drunk. He ended up calling Martha from the bar and she called us to take her to them. She ended up in my cab, and before I knew it, she was bringing me into their home and suggesting to George that he release some of his tension with me."

Alex's eyes, somehow, got even wider as he wrote down this information. His heart was beginning to pound, and he felt completely at a loss. "Oh. And, uh, what caused this relationship to stop?"

Michael shrugged. averting his eyes again. "I got tired of being a fill in for something that he clearly wanted more than me. But, Alex—our time together is how I know that George could never do something like this, not to Martha. Their marriage might have been unconventional, but they really did love each other, even if it wasn't romantically. I mean, they put on a great show for everyone else, but behind closed doors? What I saw, at least, wasn't love—I don't know what it was, but it wasn't that. They respected each other, though, you get what I'm saying? They wouldn't hurt each other like this."

"Do you, uh, do you have proof about your guys' relationship? You know, in case I, uh, need to bring it up in court." He winched at the thought. "Like—pictures? Texts? Anything like that?"

Michael nodded. "Yeah, I have all our texts saved to my computer. I can email them to you later, if that helps."

"Yes, please."

Michael looked over at John and Jayme again. The men appeared to be done, so Michael gave Alex one last forced smile before starting to walk over to them.

Before Michael could get very far, however, Alex called out to him again. "That, uh, that date that Martha first introduced you—do you happen to remember when that was?"

Michael stopped and turned around. "Yeah, actually. March twenty-first. I don't remember how long ago it was, but it was within the last few years, I think." He gave Alex one final nod before turning completely on his heel and watched him walk away.

As Alex watched Michael leave, he was struck by only one thing: apparently, George was as haunted by the date of Alex's failed proposal as Alex, himself, was.

What a fascinating idea.


	11. Chapter 11

Alex waited until John and he were back on the highway before blurting out, "George and Michael Martinez were sleeping together."

John looked at him in surprise, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. "Really? Jayme didn't tell me anything about that-did Martha know? I figured something like that in a town this small would of spread like wildfire. I mean, that's some juicy gossip for the rumor mill."

Alex shrugged and recounted everything that Michael had told him about their meeting. John's eyes widened with every bit of information Alex mentioned, finally letting out a low whistle when Alex brought up the anniversary date. "Jesus, Alex, I can't say I'm exactly surprised that it fucks with him. You're a mess about it every year, no matter how 'over it' you say you are."

"Thanks, John. That makes me feel just awesome."

"Oh shut up, you know it's true. I'm just saying, we've been acting under the impression that George had no problem leaving you, but maybe that wasn't really the case. Maybe all of this shit between you guys was just a really big misunderstanding."

God, talking about this hurt. Alex never should have taken up this case. He really thought he was over this, and seeing George the second felt easier than the first-he didn't feel overwhelmed by George's beauty, he was able to talk about Martha without wishing the last several years away, and he actually felt like he had a good chance of making this case turn out in George's favor, but now, hearing that he was just as broken up about the break-up as Alex was, that he was still acting on his feelings, Alex could feel the start of something akin to hope creep into his belly, making his heart race and his min whir of what things could be like if George and he got back together.

Maybe he should just back out of this all together.

Alex sighed and sunk down into the seat, crossing his arms over his stomach and looking out the window. He could hear John rambling about something beside him, but he wasn't paying any attention. He tried to block it out, but he couldn't get his mind to stop replaying the image in his mind of George being intimate with someone who looked like him.

He closed his eyes for a moment to steady his pounding heart before opening them and looking back at John, finally tuning back in to what he was saying. "-we should be able to call him as a witness in court, have him testify that George really was arguing with his brother in the cab."

Alex just nodded in response. John glanced over at him and rolled his eyes. "Did you hear anything that I just said?"

Alex hesitated before shaking his head and looking down at the ground. Clearly, he should have been paying more attention to what very well could be a tool in setting George free. "My mind is in a million places right now. I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's not me that your lack of focus is going to hurt." He grimaced as he saw the look of hurt that overcame Alex's features. "Shit, I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," Alex interrupted, twiddling his thumbs and keeping his gaze locked firmly on the ground. "You're right. I need to be more focused, or George is going to spend his life in jail for a crime of passion he did not commit." He cleared his throat and reached behind him to pull John's notebook out of his bag. "Let's discuss everything we learned today, and see if that gets us anywhere."

Several hours later, Alex was back home, sitting on his bed and surrounded with photographs of lGeorge and him from years past. He had avoided it as long as he could, had tried to hard to black out that portion of his life, but with this new news, the hope was burning brightly and his heart felt full. He knew he was taking a huge risk, opening himself back up to those feelings, but he couldn't help himself.

Honestly, he thought he'd be able to last longer than two weeks, but clearly he wasn't as over George as he like to tell himself he was.

He grabbed one of the stacks of photographs and leaned back against his headboard, kicking his feet out in front of him as he looked through the memories of their first year together. In most of the images, Alex looked happy, but he could remember how desperately anxious he was for the first few months that they were dating, constantly afraid that he was going to wake up to everything being a dream.

Their first date, especially, stood out vividly in his mind. He had been so nervous, but even then, being with George had felt so right.

 _*Alex was standing in the parking lot of George's apartment with sweating palms and a racing heart, trying to decide if he was really going to do this. He was fortunate that George's apartment looked out on the opposite side, so he wasn't making too big of a fool of himself. He had shown up nearly forty-five minutes early (really, he thought the highway was going to be much worse . . . how would he have known the back way would make his commute less than fifteen minutes?) and spent the first half hour sitting in his car, looking around at the concrete scenery and twiddling his thumbs. When he finally started to get anxious just sitting there, he shut his car off and tucked his keys into his pocket, waiting for a few breaths before getting out of the car._

 _He had been wandering around for almost ten minutes before his palms started to sweat, and it was another five before he realized that there was a very real chance that he might have an anxiety attack. The racing of his heart was getting faster and faster, and it was getting harder and harder to breath._

 _He wiped his hands off on his pants before going over to the sidewalk and turning around, backing his heels up against the concrete before squatting down and falling backwards, hesitating only to make sure that he wasn't going to si_ t _down in a patch of mud or a puddle before landing heavily on his rear. He put his head in his hands and tried to breath in and out through his nose, keeping count of the seconds in his mind as he alternated in through his nose and out through his mouth._

 _Jesus, what was he doing? This was someone he had known for years, someone who he once called his superior. Wasn't it some kind of disrespect, acting like they were equals? There had to be some kind of law against it, be it unspoken or not-_

 _"Alexander? What are you doing?"_

 _Alex jolted, looking up at the intruder with pure panic in his eyes. His chest felt like there was a rubber band around it, and any progress he had made with calming down flew straight out the window._

 _When he saw that it was George he was looking at, his panic of it being an attacker morphed into shock and embarrassment at being caught. Gosh, just their first date, and Alex was already making a total fool of himself. Why did he ever think this was going to work? He was too young for George, and too inexperienced-_

 _"Breathe, Alexander," he could hear George soothing him, a warm hand rubbing against his lower back and holding him close. "In and out, Alexander, that's it, breath with me. In and out, in and out-there, that's better, isn't it?"_

 _Alex closed his eyes and took a few more deep breaths before he looked at George, giving him a small smile. "Hi," he said, meeting his eyes for less than a second before looking back at the ground._

 _George moved his hand from Alex's back to his shoulder and squeezed lightly, kissing him on the cheek before leaning his forehead against Alex's temple. "Hey."_

 _Alex's heart began to race again, only this time, it was for a whole different reason as George moved his hand to cup his cheek, and gently turned Alex's face before kissing him gently, lovingly, for the first time on the mouth./_

Alex leaned his head back against the wall as the memory drew to a close, his vision beginning to cloud as the ache in his chest made him feel vulnerable and empty. God, how did something that felt so right hurt him so badly?

Although, if Michael was to be believed, George was at least a fraction as hurt as Alex was.

He closed his eyes and breathed in and out, just like he had in his memory, to try and get rid of the emotion. He knew it wouldn't work, but it at least made him feel less like he was having an anxiety attack than it did like he had just sprinted a marathon.

Once he had his breathing back under control, Alex leaned his head back down and shuffled the pictures again. He had already gone through them twice, so he went through them one final time before swapping them out for a later year.

Before he could get too deep into his memories, however, he was interrupted by his phone ringing. He grabbed it off the end table, glancing at the caller ID before answering. It was Phillip. "Hello?"

There was heavy breathing before Phillip whimpered, "Dad?"

Alex sat up sharply, his brows furrowing and his feet already scuffing around the floor in search of his shoes. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Is Angie hurt? Did something happen to one of your mothers?"

Phillip didn't say anything, but he was quite obviously crying now, the sound of his sons echoing in Alex's ear. Alex tried to pick up on any clues, but he couldn't hear anything over his son's distress. "I'm on my way over now, Phillip, stay on the line-hello? Dammit!"

Alex almost threw his phone as Phillips ancient iPhone 4 dropped the call, something it was notorious for doing. Alex had offered time and time again to buy him a new phone, but he was just as frugal as Eliza was and would not budge. Fortunately he didn't throw it, though, as te phone rang again-this time, it was Angelica.

"Angie? What's wrong?" he asked immediately after he answered, sprinting down his stairs and grabbing his jacket from where he had tossed it over the back of the sofa. He grabbed his keys, as well, and ran outside to the car, cursing under his breath as he jumped into his car and started the engine.

In his rush, he had failed to notice that Angelica had not said a word. Once he was driving, however, the panic hit him full-force. "Angie? Are you there?"

"I'm here, Dad," she replied in a shaky voice, the sounds of Phillip's anguished cries from somewhere close to her, "I'm here."

"What's wrong? Where are you guys?" He cursed again as he made a wrong turn. He pulled into a driveway and turned back onto the street.

Before Angelica had a chance to answer, Alex's heart sunk as he reached an accident at a four-way intersection near Eliza and Maria's house. There was debris scattered all along the intersection, from one end of the sidewalk to the other. One of the cars was nothing more than a jagged bits of scrap metal, the driver thrown into the grass next to the car. Alex didn't look long, but he could tell that the man's neck and leg were both broken at a gruesome, unnatural angle. The other car wasn't as completely dismantled as the first one, but it was most definitely totaled, as well.

Alex's heart stopped as he realized that it was Maria's car in front of him.

He swerved over onto the side of the road just as an ambulance and fire truck arrived on the scene. He jumped out of his car and ran over to the van, jumping around the metal shards and *praying* that his family was going to be okay.

From up close, the van was in even worse shape than Alex had realized. The top had clearly buckled under the force of the crash, and was pinning Angelica and Phillip into the back of the car. Alex could see Phillip through the window, and Phillip, who was looking back, began to wave frantically before he held up his sister's hand and pointed, clearly trying to show Alex that they were both mostly all right as firemen began to use the jaws of life to get them out of their metal prison.

Alex tried to look into the front windows to see if Maria and most likely Eliza (the twins never both sat in the back unless they had to) were all right, but the workers were blocking most of the view. He tried to run over and check, but when he got too close, one of the EMTs held his hands up and tried to move Alex away from the scene.

"God damn it, those are my kids, in there! Let me through!"

"I understand that, sir, but we can't let anyone in right now. I understand your panic, but you have to stay back right now." He moved as Alex tried to jump past him, effectively blocking him again. "Sir, the police are already on their way-I will have them restrain you, if necessary."

Alex let out a growl of frustration, but he took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking his weight onto his hind leg. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and watched helplessly as the metal was split and the first of his children climbed out.

As soon as Phillips feet hit the ground he was running towards Alex, Angie only moments behind him as the men and women shifted their attention on the overwhelming dismemberment to the front of the car. Alex leaned forward and held his arms out. Phillip and Angie crashed into him with enough force to knock him to the ground, where they laid in a pile for several seconds before sitting up as the metal let out a sickening crunching sound.

Alex sucked in another breath as a second ambulance pulled up and unloaded a stretcher, another slew of workers running out and surrounding Maria's car. "What happened?" he asked quietly, his eyes widening as Eliza was unloaded first, pulled out of a hole in the top of the car with a brace around her neck.

Phillip seemed to stunned to speak, but Angelica squeezed her father around the waist before saying, "Mama was craving ice cream, so we were going out to get some. We were talking about baby names with her and Mom, and that other guy just came out of nowhere-he ran the light and slammed right into us. We didn't know what to do, and Mom and Mama weren't answering to us-we didn't know what to do. We just wanted you."

Alex kissed Angelica on the forehead before doing the same to Phillip. He moved his hands up to their hair and massaged their scalps gently, making soothing sounds and humming gently, just like he had done when they were upset as children.

Eliza was loaded into the first ambulance. She was clearly conscious-she kept trying to sit up on the gurney, and she was yelling abuse at the workers who were still rescuing her beloved partner. She was ignored as she was wrestled the rest of the way into the vehicle, and soon she was being carted off to the closest hospital in town.

When it came to Maria, however, things didn't seem to be so cut and dry. Alex couldn't be sure, but from afar it looked like her swollen belly had gotten lodged in the steering wheel. The side of the van had been almost completely removed, so he could see the dark crimson stain that had soaked the midsection of her white tee shirt and beige pants.

"Are the babies going to be okay?" Phillip asked as some of the mangled front was cut and moved away, letting out another quiet whimper when the steering wheel began to sink backwards, Maria's head falling with it. One of the paramedics worked on getting a brace around her neck while the other pushed against her stomach.

Alex kissed his head again and let out a deep exhalation through his nose. He wasn't even sure if *Maria* was going to be okay. "I don't know, buddy. I sure hope so." He winced as the steering wheel finally dropped all the way down to the ground. The medic held Maria up again before, finally, *her* side of the van was removed, and she was able to be loaded onto the gurney. Unlike Eliza, however, her journey into the ambulance was silent, and she didn't move an inch.

Alex and his children looked on as the medics who had taken to the sprawled man ceased their support before officially calling it. They loaded him, too, onto a gurney before taking a stiff white sheet and using it to cover his face and body. Angelica looked stricken, but Phillip, ever the more sensitive of the two, watched in horror before turning to the side and vomiting onto the ground.

Alex grit his teeth and reached down to take his children's hands before standing, moving over to the police officer to find out exactly where Eliza and Maria were going before moving back to his children and getting them to his car. He made sure they were buckled in and had taken a few sips of water and had a few bites of chocolate before taking off to see their mothers.

Boy what an awful day this had become.


	12. Chapter 12

After the accident, nearly a month and a half went by before Alex could focus on anything outside of his family. Eliza had a broken collar bone and a broken wrist, Phillip and Angelica were both bruised and sore, and Maria, most definitely the worst of the accidents, had only gotten out of the hospital a few days earlier. She had lost one of the twins (a little boy, as it turned out, whom they named Oliver Michael Reynolds-Schuler), and had delivered a beautiful, one–pound-two-ounce baby girl at a little over twenty-two-and-a-half weeks, named Suzette Amelia Reynolds-Schuler. Maria had broken two of her ribs and had punctured her left lung, her right leg had been broken, and she had a concussion from where she had slammed her forehead into the steering wheel.

Phillip and Angelica were staying with Alex while Eliza and Maria healed. They had always had bedrooms there, but Maria and Eliza's house was closer to school, so they stayed with their mothers more often than not. Regardless, their beds were ready, and their rooms had been recently redecorated to better accommodate for their ages.

It was a Tuesday morning when Alex, who was in his bedroom reading up on some cold case files to pass the time, heard a strange noise coming from the direction of Phillip's bedroom (the children were off school for a professional-development day). He paused his reading, holding the file out in front of him for a moment before putting it down, looking towards the door. He waited for a moment, trying to gauge what was wrong, but he couldn't hear anything. He shrugged and resumed his reading. He was probably just imaging things. It had been too long since his children had lived with him.

A few minutes later, Alex heard the noise again. This time, he put the file all the way down on the bed and stood up, leaving his bedroom and walking down the hallway to stop next to Phillip's closed door, leaning his ear against the wood to see what was wrong. It sounded like Phillip was crying, but he couldn't be sure.

Alex swallowed before turning away from the door and going down to the kitchen. He grabbed the milk out of the fridge and put it on the counter next to the stove, going back over to the cabinet to grab a pot and a solid block of dark chocolate. He went back over by the milk and put the pot down, grabbing one of his larger knife and shaving off hefty chunks of the bittersweet treat. He dropped the chocolate shards into the pot before going back over to the fridge to grab the cream and the sugar (which he kept in a porcelain bowl in the fruit drawer, just like his mother used to do). He brought the ingredients back over and combined them in the pot, slowly adding the milk once the chocolate, sugar, and cream had all melted together in a thick, creamy mixture.

Once the chocolate was at the right consistency, Alex pulled the pot off the stove and grabbed a ladle and two of his largest mugs. Had Angelica been home, he would have grabbed three, but she was out with a few of her friends at the movies, seeing whatever the newest hit had caught their fancy. As she was not, however, Alex didn't feel any shame in filling the mugs to the top before grabbing the vanilla ice cream from the freezer and adding a dollop on top of each beverage.

Alex topped the hot chocolate off with some cinnamon before taking the mugs upstairs to Phillip's room. He leaned back on his right foot and used the toes of his left to "knock" on the bottom of the door, waiting patiently for Phillip to come and let him in.

Sure enough, only a few seconds went by before Phillip opened the door, and, unsurprisingly, his eyes were rimmed with red and his cheeks were tearstained. He stared at his father for a moment before taking a step back and holding the door wide open. Alex smiled at him before stepping in and making his way over to the bed. He knelt down on his right leg before sitting down on it, balancing his weight on his shin as he nodded towards the head of the bed for Phillip to sit down. He did, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve and pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged before taking one of the mugs and sipping slowly at it before lowering it down to his lap.

Alex took a sip as well, letting the creamy dark chocolate coat his taste buds before asking, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Phillip shrugged, staring down at the bed. He took another sip before putting the mug on the night table, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees. "I'm worried about Zettie," he said after a few minutes of silence, sighing and letting his shoulders droop in defeat, "and I'm worried about Mom and Mama, and I don't understand my geometry class, and there's this boy at school I asked out and he laughed at me-" Phillip cut himself off. He took another sip of his hot chocolate. "I just want to go to bed and wake up when it's summer break, is that too much too ask?"

Alex looked at his son partially in sadness and partially in amusement. On the one hand, he hated to see his son so stressed about so many things in his life. On the other hand, it was almost laughable how much Phillip was like Alex at that age. He worried about /everything/, from the way he looked to the way he dotted his "I"s and crossed his "t"s.

Alex couldn't help himself from chuckling, which earned him a glare from Phillip. "I know things seem tough right now, buddy, but everything really will get better. Your moms . . . they're grieving, but physically they are both doing fine. Zettie is, too, all things considered."

Phillip scoffed. "Yeah, and that's why we lost Oliver. Mama was doing /great/." He turned his face to the side so that he was looking at the empty doorway instead of at Alex. He let out a loud, dramatic sigh, his shoulders rising and falling from the effort. "I'd like to be alone now, if you don't mind."

"Okay, buddy." Alex stood up and put his mug on the nightstand before leaning down and kissing his son on the top of the head. "I'll be in my room if you want to talk about anything."

Phillip didn't respond. Alex straightened back up and picked up his mug, turning on his heel and walking towards the door. Before he could get all the way out of the room, however, Phillip called out to him. "Hey, Dad?"

Alex turned around. "Yeah?"

"There-there is one other thing that is bothering me." His cheeks darkened and he looked nervous.

Alex's brows furrowed as he went to sit back down next to his son. "Yeah?"

Just like before, Phillip wouldn't meet Alex's eyes, but this time, whatever was worrying him, began to worry Alex. Phillip was twisting his fingers together and rocking back and forth slightly, his breathing quickening and developing a raspy quality. Alex reached out and grabbed Phillip's wrist, steadying it. "Phillip, what's wrong?"

"I don't want you to be mad at me."

Alex moved so that he was sitting next to Phillip rather than across from him. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Buddy, whatever it is, I promise I won't be mad."

Phillip nodded, but he was obviously still too nervous to say anything. He twiddled his fingers faster and faster until Alex took his hands in his. "Phillip, just tell me. Everything's okay."

"I-I went through your mail," Phillip finally whispered, trying to unsuccessfully to untangle his fingers from his father's. "I didn't mean to, but I saw some envelopes in the trash that had G-George's name on them, and I was just curious-I'm sorry, Dad, I didn't mean to read them, honest."

Alex stiffened, and Phillip let out a shaky breath before trying to pull away. Alex held on tighter, his mind whirring as he tried to remember if there were any other letters that he had received from George, other than the first one. He couldn't recall any, nor did he recall John bringing any back after the still-weekly sessions with George he was having while Alex stayed in town.

Alex tried to relax, but it was difficult in his confusion. He didn't want to appear angry, however, so he took a deep breath before speaking. "Phillip, I'm not sure what letters you're talking about."

"You know, the ones he's written since the accident."

Now Alex was even more confused. George /hadn't/ written any letters since the accident. Hell, Alex had tried really hard not to even think about him, other than the few discussions Angelica and Phillip had wanted to have about him when they found out he was back in Alex's life. "Phillip, I'm sorry, but I really don't have any idea what you're talking about."

Now Phillip looked confused. "But I saw them in the kitchen trash. They were open. Didn't you open them?"

Alex shook his head slowly before something clicked in his mind. He hadn't opened any letters, but if Phillip had found them open, there was only one possibility for who it had to be. "Buddy, has Angie said anything about George being one of my clients to you?"

Phillip seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Alex did, his eyes wide as he shook his head. Alex gave him a tight smile and stood up, kissing his head again. "Thank you for letting me know, Phillip, and I'm not mad at you for reading them." He grabbed his hot chocolate and left the room before Phillip had the chance to say anything else.

Alex ran downstairs and put his mug on the counter before diving towards the trash can. He picked it up and looked inside, his stomach rolling as he dug through the half-rotted apple peels and coffee grinds. He could feel the decaying mush coating his fingers, the gritty grinds getting stuck under his fingernails and the sharp end of a toothpick stabbing into the pad of his thumb. He grit his teeth and held his breath against the smell as he dug down to the bottom, his heart sinking into the acid pool in his stomach as he realized that while the bin was full of garbage, it lacked anything made of paper.

Alex straightened his back and stared forward, his nose wrinkling and his jaw going stiff as he let himself feel the disappointment that was weighing down on him so heavily. He began to clench his fists, but the slime from the fruit began to solidify into a gummy paste, so he stopped. He made his way over to the sink and turned the water on, waiting for it to get warm before shoving his hands under the stream.

While Alex washed the gunk and goo away, his gaze drifted around the kitchen, trying to find any other spot where the letters could possibly gotten to. He wasn't finding anywhere that really stuck out to him, unless . . .

Alex yanked his hands away from the water and rushed to the front closet, not bothering to turn the sink off in his rush to get to his daughter's jackets. He remembered Eliza having this annoying habit, when they were married, of stuffing the things that she meant to get rid of in her pockets, letting them fester for days until Alex finally caught on to the smell and got rid of everything. A letter wouldn't have a distinctive smell, but if Angelica had learned anything from her mother being a pack rat over the years, it had been this. She had done it with report cards, with notes she and her friends had passed, with money . . . maybe Alex would be lucky, and she had tried to hide the letters in one of the jackets she hadn't worn to the movies.

He threw the closet door open and looked inside, his heart racing when his eyes locked almost immediately onto the corner of a folded piece of paper sticking out of one of the pockets of her faux letterman jacket. He reached in and plucked at the edge, his eyes growing wide when he found an envelope that was nearly bursting from the amount of papers that had been shoved inside. There had to be more than just a few weeks of letters in there, unless George had suddenly taken on the penchant for excessive writing, something that had always been more Alex's area of expertise than George's. (It wasn't likely.)

Alex took the envelope and cradled it in his hand, the adrenaline running through his veins at the thought of finding the letters turning to nerves as he thought about all the things the letters could potentially say. There were so many possibilities. George could be thrilled that John was the main lawyer focusing on the case, at least for while. He could be pissed off at Alex for taking some time to focus on himself and his family, when George was operating on a very limited time frame. Hell, maybe seeing Alex again reminded him just how wrong they were for one another, and he was _thrilled_ not to have to deal with Alex's obvious mooning over him every time they were together.

Alex walked slowly back over to the table and sat down, closing his eyes and pulling out the stack of letters. He unfolded them and put them on the wood, counting to ten before taking a deep breath and opening his eyes.

As Alex read through the letter, the unease in his heart began to fade, and he started to feel better about everything that was going on between them.

 _Hey, Alexander_ , the letter read, _I know that I probably shouldn't be writing to your house, seeing as I'm your client and all, but I just wanted to let you know that I am praying for Eliza, Maria, and dear little Suzette. I must say that I was quite puzzled when John arrived this morning without you by his side, but once he explained everything that had happened, I completely understood why you didn't come see me._

 _However, that doesn't mean that I didn't miss you. I know it's not fair for me to tell you this, Alexander, but seeing you these last few Saturdays have made me happier than I have been in a long, long time, and I hope that after this case is over, you will continue to grace me with your presence._

 _When I walked into that client room three weeks ago, I honestly thought that you had ignored my request and had gotten someone else to help me, or that the court had decided to appoint someone to defend me without my consent, but when I saw it was you . . . I could have sworn my heart had stopped._

 _The years have done you good, Alex. You look stronger than you did back then; healthier. I forgot how beautiful you look in green._

 _Yours,_

 _George_

Alex put the first letter down, his hands now shaking slightly. Just like when he opened the first letter, he couldn't help but feel struck by the unfairness of the whole situation. George was the one who left _him_ , not the other way around.

Regardless, he put the letter down and started on to the second letter, which was dated later that same week.

 _Alexander,_

 _I hope this letter finds you and your children in good health. Ryker told me this morning, when he was guarding the breakfast corridor, that Phillip and Angelica are staying with you until further notice. I hope you don't mind, but I managed to convince him to get a picture of the children from John. I can scarcely believe how much they've grown. They were only children when I saw them last; it's strange to see them as young adults._

 _Ryker also told me that John and he went on their first date after my last meeting with John. I don't know Ryker, much, and I don't know John at all anymore, either, but I think they will be good together, will balance each other out. They both will talk my ear off if they get the chance. Perhaps they will do the same thing to one another and then they'll both be quiet for a while._

 _Have a good week. Write back when you have time. Ryker has assured me that he will deliver anything you write to me._

 _I hope to hear from you soon, Alexander._

 _Yours,_

 _George._

Alex put the letter back down, biting down on his lip and slouching down into the back of the chair. He knew that John was still George regularly, but how must the older man be feeling without a single response from Alex? He would be too proud to ask John why Alex hadn't responded, but Alex was sure that it was bothering him, at least a little.

Alex read through a few more letters without finding any signs of George's anxiety, but sure enough, when he got near the bottom of the stack, he found a letter that was dated less than two weeks previously. It was short, but it conveyed a lot of what George was feeling. Rather than on notebook paper like the rest of the letters, this one was written on what looked like the back of a self-help brochure, if the "Depression and You: Using Meditation to Find Your Inner Peace" printed at the top of the page was anything to go by. It seemed ironic, almost, that George was writing _this_ letter below such "inspiring" wording. His handwriting, too, was different—instead of his normal tiny, concise cursive, this note was almost impossible to read with how badly the letters merged together. There were very few spaces, and Alex could make out a few spots that looked as though the page had gotten wet.

 _Alexander—_

 _I don't know if I can do this much longer. I miss you so much, and every Saturday that you're not here just makes me feel like my case is more and more hopeless. I understand that your family has to come first, I really do, but I can't help but feel like you've abandoned me. I didn't mean to do anything wrong, Alex. Everything I did, I did because I thought it was the right thing to do. I married Martha because we were both miserably in love with other people, and we thought we were good enough friends to make it work.. I left you because I was afraid that you couldn't love me after I broke your heart. I refused your marriage proposal because I didn't think that you would be proud to be with a man who was afraid to be public about his sexuality. I didn't want to be public because I was afraid of being rejected by my family and friends, and by the people who had respected me as an army general for so many years._

 _I'm so sorry for everything, Alexander. John told me that you found out about Michael and me. You're not stupid; I know you figured out why it was_ him _that I slept with and not any other guy around town. I still love you, and I know that I always will, whether you come back and help John win this trial or not. If you can't, and you have to devote all your time and energy to your family, I'll understand. If you pass me on completely to John, I'll understand. If you never want anything to do with me, I'll understand, but Alexander, I have to ask that you'll come see me again._

 _Please, Alex. Please. I_ _need_ (it was underlined four times) _to see you again._

 _I love you._

 _George._

Alex swallowed against the lump in his throat as he dropped the letter down to the table. He leaned forward and cupped his head in his hands as the full weight of everything that George had admitted hit him full-force.

George still loved him. Alex had begun to suspect as much, what with all the information he was uncovering, but having the man actually _confirm_ what was in his heart was a completely different set of cards.

There was no way around it, now. Alex had been so good over the last several years at picking up the pieces and trying to glue everything back together to make a happy, pretty picture, but there were still so many spaces left empty. He had thought that the pieces were lost forever, but now he saw the truth: the pieces weren't gone, George was just holding on to them for safekeeping.

Alex couldn't help himself, and he could feel himself beginning to hope for a new future with George after the trial.

Before Alex could get too deep into his wistfulness, however, he heard his phone ringing from its place up in the bedroom. He let out a heavy sigh and stood up, going over the stairs and skipping every other step as he hurried to get his phone before it went to voicemail. John and the new intern that they had hired were both at the firm, and, while Alex was taking some personal time, it was still partially his responsibility to shoulder some the caseload. He had told John time and time again to let him know if he was getting overwhelmed, so anytime his phone rang, he did his best to make sure that he could get to it so he could help in some way, shape, or form.

Fortunately, Alex managed to pick up the phone in time, although he was still having trouble turning his thoughts to anything other than George's confession. "What's up?" he asked, forgoing greetings as he noticed John's caller image pop up on his screen.

"Hey, Alex. You need to come into the office, now."

Maybe going in to work would clear his head, and he could start to think about this whole situation rationally again. "Yeah, sure. What's up? Did Mark make some sort of headway on the Lukerson case?" He went over to his closet and grabbed his shoes before going back downstairs to get his coat, forcing himself to keep his eyes averted from the letters on the table.

"Uhm, not exactly."

"What's wrong, then?"

John's answer nearly made Alex drop his phone. "Martha Washington's son is here to see you."


	13. Chapter 13

Alex tightened his grip on the phone as John's words bounced around his skull. "What do you mean, her son is there to see me?"

"Exactly what I said." Alex could hear John moving around his office, the shuffling of papers nearly as loud as John's breathing. "I'm look at him right now. He's sitting on the floor next to your office with his phone. I told him that I doubted you'd come in today, but he said he was willing to wait."

Alex put his hand on the doorframe and leaned forward, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against his wrist. His legs felt weak. "Did he say what he needs?"

"He wouldn't tell me. I was helping Mark interview one of the new clients, and Margaret was late coming in, so I have no idea when he got here-when I asked what he needed, he said he needed to talk to you. After he told me his name I told him that I'm on George's case with you, but he wouldn't budge. He doesn't want to talk to anyone but you."

Alex adjusted his stance against the wall so that his fingertips were digging into his eye sockets. He reveled in the pain, letting it distract him from the panic that was making his throat clench. "Maybe he will give up and leave."

John was quiet for several seconds before saying, "Alex, just come down and talk to him. Maybe whatever he has to say will really make a difference in whether or not we can get George off scott-free."

Alex knew that John was right, but he *really* wasn't sure if he could handle listening to JP's accusations about his step father. It was hard enough just reading all the news stories, nonetheless listening to someone on a more *personal* letter. He sighed. "All right. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Okay. See you soon."

"See you." Alex hung up the phone and dropped his hand to his side. He let his forehead fall into the wood, the hard ache from the collision sharpening his senses.

He stood leaning against the wood for several minutes before he pushed himself away and started to head towards the car. Before he got all the way outside, however, he turned back around and called up the stairs. "I'm going out, Phillip! I'll be back later!"

"Bye, Dad!"

Alex opened the front door and made his way down to his car, ignoring every one of his instincts that told him to stay home and hide under his covers, to block out the world and pretend that all of this was just a bad dream.

He climbed into the car and started the engine, turning up the radio as loudly as he could to block out the blood rushing in his ears. He pulled out of his driveway and went down the street, making a left at the stop sign instead of a right, taking the long way to the office rather than the only that only took a few minutes.

Unfortunately, the drive went by too quickly for Alex to have time to gather his thoughts. He pulled into his normal parking spot and shut the engine off, unbuckling his seatbelt and wiggling his hips, sinking down into the cushion and hunching his shoulders, trying to make himself disappear.

Alex was trying so hard, in fact, that he didn't notice John leaving the office and walking over to the car until he started knocking on the window, pulling Alex from his trance. Alex began to flush, and he sat up straight, reaching over and hitting the button to roll the windows down. John rested his forearms against the top of the door and leaned his head into the car, smirking at Alex. "Hiding?"

Alex narrowed his eyes. "Shut up."

John chuckled and stood up, turning slightly to the side and moving his arm so that it rested along the top of the car. He was wearing a pair of dark-gray trousers and a lilac-colored shirt, his hair in a low ponytail that was tied at the nape of his neck. Alex had to admit, he looked pretty hot. It was comforting, in a way, and made him feel more like he was back in the life that he was used to. He clenched his teeth and waved his hand in John's general direction before rolling the car window up.

Alex waited for John to move to the side before he opened the door and got out. "Is he still here?"

"No shit, Sherlock. I told you that he said he wasn't leaving until you two talked."

"Well has he given any hints about what he wants to talk about?"

"Don't you think I would have texted you if he had?" John opened the office door before holding his arm out and ushering Alex in. "I told him he could wait in your office."

Alex nodded stiffly and gave John a tight smile before clapping him on the shoulder and making his way past his secretary and interns, towards his office. The door was open, so Alex could see the back of JP's head. He had the same dark-red hair as his mother did, but his skin seemed to be quite a bit more ran than her peaches-and-cream complexion. His hair was cropped short, but the curls were tight and grouped in miniature ringlets.

Alex took a deep breath before stepping through the threshold and clearing his throat. JP turned around with wide eyes, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. He had denim-blue eyes, and there was a small scar above his mouth that must have been from a cleft palate as a child.

"Hi, you must be Mr. Curtis," Alex said, clenching his leg muscles and his toes in his shoes as he struggled to keep his voice from shaking. "I'm Alexander Hamilton, your step-father's lawyer." He walked around his desk and held his hand out for JP to shake. JP stared at Alex's hand for a second before scurrying to his feet and taking Alex's hand.

"Uhm, hi. You can just call me JP."

"All right." JP's hand was cold and clammy, so Alex wasted no time before pulling his hand back and adjusting his slacks as he sat down in his chair. JP sat back down, too, his eyes still wide. Alex grabbed a notepad off the corner of the desk and his pen. "My associate told me that you had some information about your mother's mother that might be pertinent to my case." He took the cap off the pen and began to tap the nub against the paper. "What would you like to tell me?"

JP didn't say anything at first. Instead, his eyes darted around maniacally before he stood up and went to the door, shutting it (well, slamming it, really) before coming back around and sitting down in the chair again. "I need you to come with me somewhere."

Alex raised an eyebrow. "And why would I do that?"

JP began to twiddle his fingers, looking anywhere but at Alex. It was beginning to make him feel anxious about the whole situation. He put the pen down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "JP, I need you to be completely honest with me. If you know something that will help your step-father-"

"He's innocent," JP interrupted, meeting Alex's eyes for less than a second before looking away again. "He didn't do anything to my mother. He needs to be released immediately." He started to pick at the skin around his right thumbnail. "George did nothing wrong."

Alex picked the pen back up. "JP I'm not saying I don't believe you, I do, it's just . . . you were away at school when your parents house was ransacked, as well as when George was found. Are you sure that your information is factual?"

JP met Alex's eyes again. "I was there when it happened. I know everything."

"Who killed your mother, then?"

"I can't tell you that."

Alex, who had poised his pen against the paper, pressed harder before staring at JP through his lashes. "Why not?"

"It's not my place to say."

Alex let out a breath through his nose and dropped the pen. He leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers on top of his notepad. "With all due respect, Mr. Curtis, if you hadn't just told me George is innocent, the way you are acting would lead me to believe that feel he's guilty. You need to be honest with me, here."

JP looked conflicted. "I *am* being honest. He really did not hurt her, and I really cannot tell you who killed her." His eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth turned down. "I know you don't know me, Mr. Hamilton, but please just trust me. George is the closest thing to a real father I've ever had, and I just want him free again."

"If that is the case, then why wouldn't you speak with my associate? John Laurens has been more proactive on this case than I have been lately. You could have disclosed any of this information to him at any time."

JP shook his head. "I don't know Mr. Laurens."

"You don't know me, either."

"No, but George does. Mom and he talked about you so much that I feel like I know you. I feel like I can trust you, and I *need* someone who I know I can trust to help me prove George's innocence. Please, Mr. Hamilton. Please."

Alex studied the boy, his stomach feeling heavy as he considered his options. He knew *nothing* about JP, and the way that he was pushing was making Alex feel mighty uncomfortable. Something about the way that he was hiding the true killed caused Alex to question if perhaps *JP* was the one to have committed the crime. If he went with him, would he meet the same fate as Martha Washington?

On the other hand, however, if JP really was telling the truth, there was the possibility of George being set free, and with all of the things Alex had learned about George's feelings . . . no matter how hard he tried not to, he frequently found himself wondering what a relationship would be like with the man now that they were older.

Alex used his heels to twist himself side to side in his desk chair, flipping his pen back and forth against the desk. "If I were to go with you," he said slowly, "how far away would we be driving? I have my kids to think of, you see."

"Two hours, maybe less. We would be back in the city in six hours, maybe seven, tops."

Alex continued to tap his pen for several tense, silent minutes before nodding. He rolled his feet from his heels to his toes and sat up. "All right. I'll go with you. Just give me a moment to get things settled with John, all right? I will meet you in the parking lot."

JP's face lit up. "Thank you, Mr. Hamilton. Thank you." He shot up and turned, nearly sprinting as he went through the door and down the hallway, towards the parking lot. John, who was sitting on the secretary's desk and sipping on a coffee, watched him with an amused smirk. When JP had exited the firm, John pushed himself off the desk and walked over to Alex's office. He leaned against the door frame, his look of amusement changing to one of confusion when he saw Alex packing up his things. "Where are you going?" he asked, collapsing down into the chair JP had just vacated.

"Apparently, I'm going on a little road trip," Alex responded, pulling his phone out of his pocket and texting Eliza, Phillip, and Angelica to alert them of his plans. He also grabbed the smallest key on his key ring and squatted down to unlock his bottom drawer, where he kept a small pistol for emergencies. He pulled it out of the drawer and stood up, tucking it into the waistband of his pants before pulling his shirt back over it.

John's eyes widened when he saw the gun. In all of the years that Alex and he had worked together, Alex had never felt the need to take his gun anywhere with him. "You're going somewhere with JP?"

Alex nodded and began to head towards the parking lot. John stood up and walked with him. "He says that he has information about Martha's murder."

"And he couldn't have just submitted a claim like the rest of the world? Is it really necessary for you to go somewhere with him?"

"He says that it is."

John made a noise that was a cross between a growl and a whimper. "I'll come along, too. I just have a bad feeling about this, Alex."

Alex did, too, but he wasn't going to admit *that* out loud. "Seriously, John, I'll be fine. I'll text you later and tell you everything, okay? Here, I'll even turn on my GPS tracker so you can find me if I don't come back or contact you." He clicked the buttons on his phone before tilting it towards John. "There, see? Location secured, safe and sound." He glanced over at the interns before leaning forward and giving John a quick kiss on the cheek, directly above a love bite that Ryker clearly had enthusiastically bestowed upon him.

John didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. "Fine."

Alex gave him a final wry smile before walking the rest of the pathway to the parking lot. JP was leaning on the hood of his car, his arms crossed and a cigarette dangling out in-between his middle and index fingers of his left hand. He lifted it up and took a drag as he looked at Alex before tossing it to the ground and stomping on it.

Alex eyed JP's beat-up, rusty car warily before waving his hand towards his own vehicle. "Uh, mind if I drive?"

JP shook his head and shoved his own keys back in his pocket before following Alex's hand. He lit up another cigarette as he walked, stopping next to the passenger door and smoking while he waited for Alex to get in and get the engine started. Once he had, JP flicked the butt onto the ground before stomping that one out, as well. He climbed into the car and sat down, kicking his feet out and disregarding his seatbelt as Alex began to drive.

Alex was regretting this already.

Nearly an hour and a half later, Alex was *really* beginning to regret agreeing to JP's request. They had gone from driving the city streets to suburbs to country backroads. JP was telling Alex every ten minutes that they were "nearly there," but Alex found himself repeatedly wondering if JP really had a destination in mind, or whether they were just driving in circles, especially with every minute that passed by without seeing a single home or building. They had moved from the country roads into some kind of forest, and every instinct in Alex's body was telling him to run.

He persevered through the feeling, however, and focused on not hitting any fallen tree or wild animal. "Seriously, JP, how much longer is this going to take?" he asked in exasperation as his tires got stuck in yet another mud hole.

"It's right up there," JP assured him, pointing through the throng of trees. "See that yellow bit right up there? That's where we're going."

Alex narrowed his eyes, squinting at the leaves. He could see the yellow that JP was talking about, but he wasn't quite sure that it was a house. Besides, even if it was, the road was getting narrowed, and it seemed to be stopping no more than twenty feet ahead.

JP, apparently, had anticipated this. He waved his hand at a small patch of flattened grass near the end of the road. "Park there and we will walk the last quarter mile to the house. That's how we've always done it."

Alex did as he was asked and pulled onto the patch, shutting the car off and getting out, tapping his gun as nonchalantly as he could to make sure it was still there before turning to face JP. "All right, what now?"

JP didn't respond. He stepped past Alex and began to walk through the brush, ducking under branches and gesturing to Alex so he knew what snake holes and tree roots to avoid. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, which he moved to his palm and squeezed as he took the last few steps through the brush and into the clearing.

Alex followed close behind, his gun feeling hot on his back as his heart beat began to increase. Going into a cabin in the woods was never a good thing in movies, and he would be damned if he let himself get killed by George Washington's step son.

Once Alex could see the house, however, his fears quickly began to ebb away. The foundation was nicely maintained, and both the shingles and the roof looked like they had recently been redone. There was a small garden in front of the house, and the wrap-around porch was perfectly painted a lovely eggshell color. There wasn't any trash or debris on the land, and Alex couldn't see any sign of the building behind abandoned.

The best part of the building, however, was the beautiful lady who was sitting on the front steps with a book in her hand and a bowl of chocolate candies at her feet. She looked up when she saw Alex, but it was impossible to say who was more surprised to see the other.

It appeared that Martha Washington was very much alive.


	14. Chapter 14

Martha stared at Alex for nearly a solid minute before she fully grasped who she was looking at. "You're Alexander!" she exclaimed, dropping her book on the ground and running over to him. She threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. Alex went rigid in her arms, entirely unsure of what to do. He had never been a huge fan of affection, other than with George, Eliza, or John, but this felt even more damning than a simple hug. This was the wife of the love of his life, then woman who had everything Alex had ever wanted. How could he show that affection back?

Martha must have sensed Alex's discomfort, as she pulled away almost immediately and gave him a smile that was apologetic at first but quickly grew into something more. She grabbed his hand and pulled him up onto the porch, ushering him onto porch swing before telling JP to go and make them some lemonade.

Once Alex was seated comfortably on the swing, Martha sat next to him, pulling her legs up beneath her bottom and studying him. Alex studied her as well, shocked to see how different aspects of her appearance looked in person compared to her pictures. She had cut her hair into a chin-length bob with blunt bangs, and had dyed it a chocolate-brown, her natural red barely peaking through on the strands that she had missed. She had not been large in all of her photographs with George, but she had obviously lost a lot of weight, her jawline chiseled and her cheekbones sharp above the hollow of her cheeks. It also looked like she was wearing colored contacts to hide her natural color, although whomever she purchase them from must had made them cheaply, as Alex could see the differentiation between each individual highlight and shadow on the lens.

Martha also seemed to be almost blissfully happy. "Oh, I'm so happy that you came to visit me, Alexander. George has told me all about you over the years, and he promised me he would bring you to see me after all the hype died down, but I didn't think I would see you this soon! I must say, I wasn't expecting it to be JP to bring you down, either, but I won't look the gift horse in the mouth. It's just so lovely to finally meet you."

Alex coughed uncomfortably, rocking on his feet nervously. "Uhm, it's good to meet you, too."

"Good" wasn't an honest way of describing Alex's feelings on the situation. He had spent so long catching snippets of George and Martha's lives together that it seemed almost like Martha was part of a fairy tale, and after believing her to be dead for the past two months, it felt like he was talking to a ghost.

Martha continued on without pause, her happiness becoming more and more exuberant the longer that she sat next to Alex. "How is George doing? I know when we finally made this plan, he was so nervous about trying to start a relationship with you again-"

"Wait, what?" Alex interrupted, his eyes going wide at Martha's words. "What plan? What are you talking about?"

Martha's brows furrowed and she looked at Alex as if he had twelve heads. "Our plan to get our lives back." She paused and looked at Alex expectedly, like she was waiting for him to know exactly what it was that she was talking about. When Alex didn't answer, she looked even more concerned. "George didn't tell you?"

Alex took a deep breath and shook his head. "Martha, all he's told me is that he didn't kill you. I didn't even know you were still alive until JP showed up at my office today and told me that he had some information on George's case-"

"What case? What's going on?" Now she looked concerned rather than excited. "What's wrong with George?"

"JP didn't tell you?"

Martha glanced over as the boy in question came back outside. She stared at him with a look of scrutiny before turning back to Alex. "Alexander, I have not heard anything from George since we went our separate ways. We agreed on letting six months pass before we began to communicate again, just in case anyone was tracking us. The last time I saw or heard from him was after he brought me here."

"And you've just been living here for the past five months?"

"Yes, but Alexander, that's not important right now. What is George's case for? What are you defending him for?" She looked up as JP held a glass of lemonade in her direction. "Thank you, JP."

Alex took a glass, as well, before saying, "Martha, George is in jail. They think that he murdered you in cold blood."

He winced as Martha dropped her lemonade, the glass shattering and embedding itself in the skin of his ankle. The lemonade, still ice cold, splashed against the cuts, but the cooling sensation of the liquid was counteracted by the sting of the lemon juice.

Martha's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped as she took in what Alex had said. "They *what*? But, we planned everything so perfectly! Everyone was supposed to think that I committed suicide, and that George, my grieving husband, moved back to the city to ease the ache of his broken heart. No one was supposed to think that he was responsible! We planned everything down to the way that he'd 'find' me. What went wrong?"

Alex began to answer, but JP cut her off. "It's my fault," he said, setting the jug of lemonade on the ground and leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his stomach.

Alex felt his stomach drop, and Martha spun around, looking furious. "What did you do, JP? You knew the plan, too!"

JP looked ashamed. "I know, Mom. It wasn't intentional. I took your note to the house and put it next to your bed, just like you told me to, but I made a mistake. I-" he paused, swallowing and moving his hand up to ruffle the back of his hair, "I told Jack and Mick what was going on, and I asked them to help me move some things around the house to make it look like you had gone somewhere to die. They were cool when they wed helping me, but I guess they saw a bit too much that they liked, because they broke back in that night and destroyed your house. They stole all of your jewelry and broke into the safe. My wallet had fallen out when we were moving things and I went back to get it. I saw them running away from the house as soon as I pulled into the driveway, and I just-I got scared. I convinced Natalia to give me some of the bagged blood she had from your last donation, and I put drops around to make it look like something had happened."

"Why didn't you tell me George had been arrested? You didn't think that would be a little bit important for me to hear?"

"I didn't want to upset you, mom, you have enough to worry about-"

"Save it." Martha held a hand up to cut him off. Her cheeks were flushed dark-red in anger, and she didn't say anything else before standing up and talking Alex's hand. JP didn't fight back, either.

Martha dragged Alex through the kitchen and up a flight of stairs, taking him into a bedroom and slamming and locking the door. She pushed him down onto the bed and sat down beside him, grabbing one of the pillows and letting out a scream into it. Alex couldn't do anything but watch, his mouth going dry and his palms itching as he realized that all of this could have been completely avoided if JP had just done exactly what his mother and George had planned, whatever that may be.

Alex waited for Martha to lower the pillow back to her lap before scooting over to her, putting a hand on her knee and squeezing it lightly. Martha began to clench the pillow, her hands going white and her veins popped the harder that she squeezed. There were tears brimming her eyes, and her shoulders were trembling from the intensity of her emotions. Alex moved closer again and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and holding her until she calmed down again.

"Why do they think George 'killed' me? Did JP's friends really make the house look that awful?"

"Yes, they did. I've seen the crime scene images, and Martha . . . it looked really bad. Besides, the last time George was seen before you went missing he was heavily intoxicated and clearly pissed off at someone on the phone, and there was blood on his clothing when the detectives found him in a motel room."

"Of course there was blood on his shirt; I cut my hand when we were trying to move the furniture around so I could stay here." She thrust her hand into Alex's line of sight. "See? I have the scar still and everything."

Alex glanced at the scar and nodded. He though that it looked older than just a few months, but he was a lawyer, not a doctor. "I see."

"Why didn't George just tell them that he didn't do it? He was well-liked around town; I'm sure there was *someone* who would be willing to vouch for his character."

"He tried, but no one believed him. I guess he was having trouble thinking of a story, because he kept just saying that he couldn't remember."

Martha shook her head. "Idiot. We planned out what we would say if something went wrong, too. How did he contact you, if he's locked up?"

"He wrote me a letter, asking me to come and see him, and to be his lawyer. He said he didn't trust anyone besides me to see the truth." He pulled his arm away from Martha's shoulder and moved further down on the bed. "You don't have to tell me, Martha, but why did you do it? What happened that made you both so miserable you tried to fake your own suicide?" He hesitated before saying softly, "George said that you've tried to kill yourself for real more than once.

Martha looked taken aback for half a second before she shrugged. Alex expected her to look sheepish, but she had no qualms about the morality of her decision. "If I hadn't faked my suicide, I would have ended up trying again, for real. I just couldn't do it any more. I've lived my whole life as Martha Curtis, daughter of Myra and Thomas Curtis. My name has been recognized every where that I go. I had hoped when George and I got married that the name-dropping would stop, but it only became worse. It played a big part in my depression, and I *had* to think of something to stop it. George just happened to want to help."

"So you faked your death? I'm sorry, Martha, but I still just don't understand."

Martha stared at Alex in silence before dropping her gaze to the bed. "Looking back on it, it was a stupid plan, but I was desperate. I was paranoid about every thing I did, and I felt like I was living inside a painting instead of just being me. I thought that killing that image would let me be whoever I wanted again. I hated what it would do to my sister, but to my parents, to the family name? I didn't care. It was just all too much."

"Why didn't George and you move somewhere away from all of your family drama, start somewhere new?" Alex was grasping at straws. No matter how many reasons Martha gave to defend her decision, Alex still couldn't fathom someone faking their own death. "There were so many options you two could have chosen. You didn't have to be the person that your parents wanted you to be. You could have made your name into something else."

Martha looked skeptical. Alex sighed. He had been in enough arguments, both legal and not, to know when the other side's stance could not be budged. "Okay, fine. I suppose I can imagine why you did it. But how does George fit into all of this? Was he really okay with being married to a dead woman?"

"We, well, we got a divorce before this whole charade began. We realized that 'til death do we part' had to *literally* end in death, and I wanted George to be free. I wanted him to be able to come back to you without anything holding him back."

This time, it was Martha putting *her* hand on Alex's knee in comfort. "Alex, George loves you. You were all he could talk about after we got married."

"Then why'd he marry you instead of me, huh? Clearly that's not how George feels about his feelings for me," Alex snapped. The look of comfort on Martha's face turned to hurt, and she pulled her hand back. Alex began to feel bad. "Look, Martha, I just meant-"

"Alex, I know that George broke your heart when he left you, but leaving broke his, too. I don't know if he ever mentioned me when you were together, but we had been friends, once, when we were younger. We stayed in touch over the years, and when JP's father died a few months after George left you-well, we were both lonely, and grieving, and we decided to give a relationship a shot. It didn't take long for us to realize that there wasn't any romantic feelings there, but we had been friends for so long that we decided we were better off being miserable together than being miserable apart."

Martha got up off the bed and held her hand out to Alex. "Come on. I want to show you something." She waited for Alex to reach out to her. Once he had, she pulled him up and led him out of the room and down the hallway into a small office that was next to the bathroom and another bedroom. Alex followed her through the doorway and over to the plush, olive-green couch. He sat down and sink into the cushions, the over-fluffed cushions groaning as they caved under his weight.

Martha let him get comfortable before she went over to the bookcase. She stood on her tip toes and reached into the top shelf to grab a thick, leather-bound book. She pulled it down and held it against her chest as she walked back to the couch and sat down next to Alex.

"Here," she said, turning the book around and putting it on Alex's lap. "It's yours."

Martha's words made Alex's stomach tie itself in knots. He opened the book skeptically, biting down on his lip to keep himself from gasping as he realized what he was looking at.

There, on the first page, were the words: "To my Alexander. Happy anniversary, sweetheart. I love you." It was dated two weeks before Alex proposed to George, the numbers shimmering above the page in an embossed red glitter. Below the picture was an image of George and Alex sitting on a bench in the park, George's Brittany, Rivera, sitting on the ground in front of them. Angelica was sitting to Alex's right and was leaning against his back, and Phillip was next to George, Rivera's leash in his hand. The children couldn't have been any older than seven or eight, baby fat still puffing out their cheeks and their hair thin and straight from where it was pressed against their foreheads.

Alex ran his fingers over the picture before turning to the next page, his eyes feeling hot as he read a journal entry that George must have made early on in their relationship. There were pictures of them one dates, and even a few grainy selfies that they had taken on Alex's ancient flip phone years before.

As Alex flipped through the pages, he was struck by all the memories George and he had created together. In the book was movie stubs, letters, pressed flowers, anything and everything that reminded George of Alex.

The second half of the book, however, had a different vibe than the first half. George must have had empty pages, or he had taken the images out, as everything began to speak to Alex's accomplishments as a lawyer and the things that he had done in his personal life after the break up. There were newspaper clippings and web articles, Alex's business card and even a few newsletter sections about the things that Phillip and Angelica had done in school.

It was obvious that George had spent an incredible amount of time working on putting the book together, and by the time that Alex was done looking at it, he was fighting back tears. All those years thinking that George didn't care, wondering if he ever really loved him, were shoved to the side as the depth of George's love for him ran clear.

When Alex finished looking through the book he held it back out to Martha, giving her a small smile and wiping at his eyes. "Thank you for showing me that," he said, pulling his shirt sleeve down over his palm and using that to dry his tears. "That was beautiful."

Martha nodded. "He's spent so much time over the years looking back on the life you two had together and seeing what an amazing man you've become. He might not have said it yet, or maybe he never will, but he's proud of you and everything you've done. You've really made a life for yourself." She put the book on the top and stood up. "You can keep looking at things in here, but I am going to go start getting ready and fix myself a snack. We have a long drive ahead of us, you know." She reached out and ruffled his hair. "Let's bring me back to life."


	15. Chapter 15

Alex looked around the office for a bit longer before going down into the kitchen, sitting down at the kitchen island next to where Martha was working diligently on preparing snacks for the road. She had separated different sweet and salty snacks into ziplock bags, which she put into a small backpack, along with a few bottles of water. She was humming something to herself, putting all of her focus on the things in her hand and none on JP, who was standing at the other end of the counter, looking apologetic and twiddling his fingers against the marble.

"I figure if we leave here in the next hour then we will make pretty decent time getting back to your house, I don't think we can go and see a judge today, but if we get an early enough start tomorrow-"

"I'm sorry, what?" Alex interrupted, blinking in in her direction. He shifted on his feet and stuffed his hands in his pockets. JP looked confused, too. He crossed his arms across his chest and bit his lip.

Martha stopped shaking the bag in her hand and looked up. "What, what? That's the way we go about it now, right? You take me to see a judge, I prove that I'm still alive, George is released, bada bing, bada boom, everyone is happy."

Alex started. Oh. He hadn't even *thought* about that. He had been so focused on the fact that Martha was *alive* that he didn't even consider what that meant for George. She was right, though-without her death, there was no case. There were a few questions about the legality of Martha's decision, but if she had JP file her taxes, and there wasn't anything about the life insurance . . . Everything really should work itself out.

"You're right," he said after a moment, taking his hands out of his pockets and leaning against the counter. Martha went back to packaging her snacks. JP watched her silently for several more minutes before he tried to speak again.

"I'm sorry, mom," he said. "I didn't mean to make everything turn out like this . . . Jack and Mick were with me anyway, and I just thought that they'd understand what we were doing there. I didn't tell them that you weren't really dead, I just said you and George were on a trip and that you'd ask me to move some furniture. I never expected them to break back in. I'm sorry."

Martha made a noise to show she heard, but she didn't say anything. She looked at Alex again. "So, can I stay with you tonight, or do I need to try and find a motel?"

"No, you can stay with me, absolutely. Let me just . . . " he pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned it on, " . . . let me call my kids and make sure that the house is straightened up." He nodded at JP. "You can stay too, if you want-my kids are only a couple of years younger than you, they're nearly eighteen."

JP nodded, but the look Martha gave him kept him from accepting the offer, at least right then. Alex took his phone out onto the porch and sat down on the front step. He unlocked it and scrolled through to Phillip's number.

Phillip answered on the second ring. "Hey, Dad. What's up? I thought you'd be home by now."

Alex pulled his jeans up, rubbing at the cuts on his ankle. They were beginning to sting again as they started to heal over. "I had to go on a bit of a road trip. Something to do with George's case. Hey, listen, I need you to do something for me."

"Sure."

"We're going to be having a guest over tonight, so would you mind straightening up the house a little and setting up the pull-out bed in the basement? It'll be another few hours before I get home, yet, and I'd rather it be done before I get there."

"Yeah, that's fine. Do you want Angie and me to use dinner ready?"

"Yes, please. Is your sister home?"

"Yeah. You want me to give her the phone?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, hold on."

The line went silent as Phillip put his phone on mute. Alex kicked his feet out and dropped his head to his knees, his emotions running haywire as the events of the day caught up to him. Not only did he find out that George had been writing to him, but the whole case, every little thing he had based his findings off of, was a lie. Hell, everything he had based the last five years of his *life* off of was a lie.

If George had missed him so much, why didn't he just come back? Alex liked to think that he would have put up some sort of a fight, but hell, with how fast he went running when George asked him to be in his life professionally, he knew there was no chance he'd last more than a few minutes up against George's request to see him again romantically.

"Dad?"

Alex straightened up as the phone kicked on. "Angelica, hey."

"Phillip said you needed to talk to me?" There was a quiver in her voice. "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, sweetheart, I just wanted to ask you about something. When you've gotten the mail, have you noticed any letters for me from George recently?" He tried to keep his tone from being too accusatory, but from the sharp intake of breath he heard on the other end, he hadn't done a very good job.

He heard a rusting on the other side that couldn't be anything other than Angelica checking her coat for the letters before she answered. " . . . you found them."

"Yes, I did. Is there a reason why you didn't tell me about them?"

Angelica hesitated again before answering. "You were a mess when he left you, Dad. You tried to hide it when we were around, but we're not stupid. We could tell how upset you were, and when Mom told us that he was trying to communicate with you again . . . I just didn't want to have to watch you go through what you did before. I don't want to let him have the chance to break your heart again."

Alex reached up and pressed his fingertips against his eyelids. He should have known that Angelica was just worried about him. "Angie, I understand your concern, but I don't need you to be worried about stuff like that. I'm a grown man, I know better than to let him break my heart again." Yeah, that was a lie.

Angie knew it, too. "Dad, I'm not a little kid. You can tell me the truth about stuff like this." She paused for a second before asking, "So . . . did he really kill her?"

Alex sighed. "That's another thing you shouldn't be worrying about, but no, Angie, he didn't kill her." He looked up as Martha and JP came outside, the backpack of snacks hanging over Martha's shoulder. She gestured towards the car. Alex nodded and pulled out his keys, tossing them to her. "I need to hang up now, but I'll be back in a few hours, all right? I want Phillip and you to pick up the house. Phillip can explain why."

"Okay. Bye, Dad."

"Bye, Angie." He hung up the phone and locked the screen before remembering that he needed to talk to John, as well. He stood up and began to walk over to the car as he called.

Like Phillip, John answered on the second ring. "Alex. I was waiting for you to call. What's going on? Where'd that kid take you?"

"That kid," as it seemed, had gotten booted to the back seat of the car, and Martha had stolen the shotgun. She waved her fingers at Alex as she started the engine and turned on the radio, scrolling through stations until she landed on a rock one.

Alex shook his head in disbelief. Martha really was much different than he had expected her to be. "I promise I'll tell you, but this *really* isn't the kind of conversation we should be having over the phone. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I am about to drive back to town, so I should be home around seven or eight. Come over tonight and we will talk about everything?"

"Oh my, God, did you find her body? Fuck, Alex, after all these months-how bad off is she? Did you puke when you saw her? You did, didn't you?"

Alex chuckled dryly. He shouldn't be surprised, John jumping to that conclusion. He had always been so morbid. Then again, technically, Alex *had* found her body. "Like I said, come over tonight, and we will talk about everything."

"You're sure you're okay?"

"John, I'm fine. Really." He got into the car and changed the radio station. Martha lunged forward to change it back, but Alex slapped her hand away. "Driver picks the music, and the passenger shuts their pie-hole."

John snorted while Martha rolled her eyes, settling back into the seat with her arms crossed and her ankle propped up on her knee. "Okay, Dean Winchester, I'll let you drive, but you better get home safe. I'll see you in a few hours."

"Kay. Bye, John." He took his phone away from his ear and hung up before John could respond. He dropped it in the cup holder and began the trek back home.

Four hours later, Alex was back home. He had dropped JP back off at the firm to get his car, half-expecting to run into John as he left the office. However, the lot was empty and the building was dark, so it seemed that John had taken his leave early.

Alex and Martha parked in the garage and went into the house. Angelica was out again, her car missing from the street, but Phillip was still home. Alex was shocked to see that he had done everything that he had asked, *and* he had even prepared dinner. He had made spaghetti, and had even set out plates on the dining room table.

"Wow, that smells great," Alex said, going into the kitchen and clapping Phillip on the shoulder. "You really didn't have to do that."

Phillip blushed. "It, uh, wasn't just for you . . . Marius is going to come by in a half hour to study for our chemistry test."

Alex raised an eyebrow as he remembered the conversation from earlier about the boy Phillip had asked out and had been rejected by. "Oh?"

"Yeah. He, uh, reconsidered his answer."

"Good. I'm glad." He winked. Phillip's cheeks turned even more red. He wanted to tease more, but before he could, there was a knock at the door.

Alex turned towards Martha. "Go ahead and fix yourself a plate, and I'll go see who's at the door. It'll probably be John, if Marius won't be here for another half hour."

Martha nodded and moved towards the dining room where Phillip was moving the serving bowls. Alex turned and walked to the door, calling out, "I'm coming!" as there was another urgent knock.

When Alex opened the door, he barely had time to step out of the way before John came barreling in. "Now spill," he demanded, putting his hand against Alex's shoulder and pushing him against the wall. "What the hell was that today?"

Alex plucked John's fingers off and pushed him away. "I have a surprise for you."

John raised his eyebrow. "Will your surprise show me what I want to know?"

"Maybe. Go into the dining room and find out."

John rolled his eyes, but did as he was asked. Alex waited in the front hall, but he could hear the exact moment when John realized who he was looking at. "Holy fuck! Alex, get your ass in here!"

Alex laughed quietly and shook his head. He followed John's request and walked into the dining room, his laugher growing stronger as he took in the expression on John's face. His eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open, and his hands were trembling by his side.

Martha gave Alex a slight wave. John turned his gaze to him, making a strangled noise in the back of his throat before looking back at Martha, and then back at Alex again. "Alex, what the fuck is going on? Did you know about this?"

"I honestly had no idea. I wasn't expecting *her* to be the thing that JP wanted to tell me about her murder. I was just as shocked as you are."

"Does George know she's alive?" John turned to look at Martha again. "Did he know that you're alive?"

Martha sighed and motioned for John to come and sit down beside her. "You better get comfortable. It's a long story."


	16. Chapter 16

The next morning, John picked Martha up at the crack of dawn to go and meet with the judge. Alex had barely slept, and he knew that Martha had been the same way. The pressure to say the right thing and get George out of jail without Martha getting arraigned herself was going to be a challenge, and if John didn't play their cards right, things could go belly-up/

Alex waited until Martha was gone before taking a shower and getting ready for the day. He finished much faster than he normally did, so he was out of his house and on the road four hours before visiting hours started. His driving, apparently, was quicker, too, as he reached the prison in less than two hour's time.

Alex circled around the parking lot a few times before pulling back out onto the street and driving over to McDonalds. He contemplated going into the drive through, but he was feeling so anxious that he knew he would do nothing but jiggle the pedal and mess with the radio. He'd find some excuse to drive back to the prison immediately, and he'd end up just working himself into more of a state than he already was. He slid into a spot and shut the engine off, taking a moment to breathe before he opened the door and climbed out onto the parking lot. He looked around the parking lot before jogging across the asphalt and going inside.

Immediately, Alex was overwhelmed by the acrid smell of burnt oil and old meat. He had never been the biggest fan of McDonalds, but now, with his stomach doing summersault and his hands sweating like a cold glass in summer, the smell was welcome. It reminded him back of his days in the military, when his buddies and he were hung over. It happened rather frequently, actually, and the only thing that kept him from throwing up the next day was a quarter pounder and a large fry.

He wasn't sure that was what was going to settle his stomach now, a decade later, but he sure as hell was going to try.

Well, or at least he was going to, until he remembered that McDonalds only served their _breakfast_ menu at 6:27 in the morning. Oh, well. He'd have to find something else that was greasy enough to work for him.

Alex walked up to the counter and put his hands in his pockets. He only had to wait in line behind one person before he was at the front. He looked up at the menu, rocking back onto his heels before rocking forward and smiling at the young man that was working there. The boy was staring at him with dark eyes and red cheeks. Alex knew he looked good in his khaki pant, light purple button-down, and dark-red tie, his hair in a low ponytail at the base of his neck, but he boy was staring at him like he was some kind of _god._ It was rather disconcerting.

"How can I help you?" the boy asked, his voice cracking and his cheeks nearly matching the ketchup that had spilled onto the end of the counter. A bit of light hit his chest, causing something to flash. Alex glanced down to see a "manager" tag on the boy's chest. He couldn't help but wonder if he was as awkward with all of his customers as he was being with Alex.

"I'd like a large mocha frappe, please, and an order of . . . " he paused, screwing his lips up to the side as he debated, "biscuits and gravy, and a hash brown. Please."

"O-okay." He jabbed his finger against the screen a few times. The receipt printed out, and he studied it for a second before putting it on the counter next to him. "Your meal's on me." He coughed before turning around and fast-walking back to the grill, where he began to prepare Alex's meal without sparing a single glance back to the lobby.

Alex pulled out his phone while he waited. He went to his text messages and went to his conversation with John, hoping to see that he had already met with the judge and that George was clear to leave the prison. There was a very slim chance that the judge was in his office, but John knew him on a more . . . _personal_ level, so there was always the chance that John had been able to see him at home. Then again, Judge Marlin's wife hadn't gone out of town for a while, so maybe John visiting his house _wasn't_ that great of an idea, especially when there was something that he actually needed.

Regardless, scrolling through the conversation gave Alex something to do other than just stand around uncomfortably. There wasn't anything of particular interest in the conversation, but it was enough to distract him momentarily from the queasiness that had begun to rise as the smell of the oil got to him.

Fortunately, it was only a few more minutes before the kid was back up to the front counter, the tray of Alex's food in his hand. He gave Alex a nervous smile and nodded, the tray wobbling and sloshing whipped cream onto the paper liner. "Here you go," he said, his voice alternating between cracking and wobbling.

Alex stepped forward and took the tray out of the kid's hands. He didn't bother saying anything back before taking the tray back to a secluded corner and sitting down on the hard plastic seat. He unwrapped he prepackaged silverware and opened the biscuit tray, taking a moment to dump the thick, gritty-looking gravy over the top of the surprisingly fluffy biscuit.

Alex dropped his phone onto the table before digging in, trying his hardest to ignore the rumbling of his stomach and the thick layer of mucus that was quickly coating his throat from the fake cream in the gravy.

Nearly an hour later, Alex had eaten all of his biscuits and gravy, and had drunken most of his frappe. The thick goo had, surprisingly, calmed his stomach down enough for him to really think about what he was going to say, what he was going to do. He still hadn't gotten any messages from John, but he was doing his best not to be too concerned with what it was making him fear. If he wanted things to work out today, he couldn't be too nervous or go into anything with any preconceived thoughts.

The one thought that kept bouncing through Alex's mind, however, the one that he couldn't squash no matter how hard he tried, was that George had lied to him about the _entire_ case. It made him unsure of everything that he thought he knew, both about himself and about George. How could he know if his feelings were real if it was all based on a lie? Hell, how could he know that their past together was real? If George could lie so easily now, who's to say he wasn't doing the exact same thing before?

He sighed and stood up, going over to the trash can to dump his tray before walking out the door and making his way back to his car. He got in an turned it on, taking a moment to collect himself before pulling out of the parking lot and going back towards the prison.

Twenty minutes later, he had parked the car and was waiting in line to pass through the metal detectors. Ryker was standing by the scanner, arguing with a woman about whether or not she could take her penknife beyond the entrance. When he saw Alex, however, he smiled at him before furrowing his brows in confusion. He waved the woman on after yanking the knife out of her hands.

"Alex. It's good to have you back. Where's John? I thought he said he was coming up with you. We were supposed to have dinner tonight."

Alex rolled his eyes. Leave it to John not to tell his now-boyfriend what the plan was. "Hold your horses, Ryker. John just has a few things he has to do and then he will be up here." He dropped his keys, his wallet, and his phone into the basket Ryker was holding before stepping through the detector. It stayed silent, so he grabbed his possessions and clapped Ryker on the shoulder. "I'll see you later, Ryker. Same room as normal?"

"Yeah. Geoff will bring George in soon."

Alex forced a smile and nodded before turning and walking down the familiar hallway. The closer he got to the room, however, the more the familiarity comforted him. At the same time, however, the familiarity also made him feel sick to his stomach, and it made the anger begin to rise. For Fuck's sake, all he had done was try and help George, and George couldn't have let him in on that one _fucking_ clue. He thought that the man he loved had really been capable of doing something so awful, that he was going to have to see him spend the rest of his life in prison, that it was going to be _his fault_ because he hadn't defended George hard enough.

How stupid did that make _Alex_ , to really believe that George had still loved him after all these years? George had had five years to reconcile their relationship, and he didn't do anything until he was in a bad situation, himself. That wasn't love. That was manipulation.

Alex's nostrils flare as he blew a sharp breath out. He clenched his teeth and his fists, feeling his pulse pop against his forehead. He debated for a moment before stopping at the door, letting his fists knock against the solid metal. He tilted his head up and looked at the ceiling, his eyes flickering back and forth from one edge of the plaster to the other.

After almost a few minutes, Alex made a decision. Fuck Gorge. He spent all those years not loving him enough to come back, Alex could love him enough to let him go.

The decision made, Alex turned around and started back down the hall. Before he could make it all the way to the end, however, he heard his name being called. "Alexander? Where are you going?"

Alex stopped. He didn't turn around, and he clenched his fists tighter. "Alexander? What's wrong? What are you doing?"

George sounded small, his voice quiet and shaking. Alex took a deep breath before turning around to face him. George was staring at him, his brows furrowed and his mouth gaping slightly open. He looked like a dog that had been kicked by its owner, scared and betrayed by whatever he had done. Alex stayed silent, and George looked terrified. The guard was indifferent. "Alex? What's wrong? Did something happen to Eliza, or Maria—"

"Shut the fuck up."

George stepped back. The guard raised an eyebrow at Alex before pushing George into the conference room. He gestured for Alex to do the same. "You know the drill, pretty boy. Speak to your client in here, or get the fuck off our property."

"Yeah, well, fuck you, too." Alex flipped the man off, but he did as he was requested. He walked into the room and slammed the door, flipping the guard off again before throwing himself down into one of the chairs. He crossed his arms and kicked his feet out, looking more like a petulant child than he did a big-shot lawyer. George sat down across from him, his eyes still narrowed and nervous.

After several tense minutes of silence, George said, "Alexander . . . I don't know what I did to make you so angry with me. If something happened to your family and you're upset about that, that's fine, just please talk to me—"

"Fuck you, George. Seriously. I shouldn't have even fucking come here today."

"What did I do, Alexander? You haven't been here in over a month, I couldn't have said anything to hurt you. Is this about the letters? If so I'm sorry, I didn't think that it would bother you to hear from me. I suppose I could have just sent them with John, would that have been better? I'm sorry, I should have thought about that, I just—"

"It has nothing to do with the letters," Alex interrupted, cutting George's rambling short. It was odd; George was always the concise one of their relationship. Alex was more the rambling type. "It has nothing to fucking do with that."

"What is it, then?" George leaned forward and put his hands on the table, his handcuffs clinging against the thick plastic.

Alex breathed heavily in and out through his nose. "You lied to me."

"What are you talking about? I _haven't_ lied to you. I've been totally honest with you, about Martha and my relationship, about how I feel about you—"

"You didn't tell me that Martha wasn't really dead."

For a split second, it looked like George was going to lie again, to say that he had no _idea_ that she was still alive, but after a quick glance from Alex he slumped back, his shoulders falling in defeat and his gaze dropping down to the table.

Again, there was a stretch of silence until George decided to speak. "I wanted to tell you, Alexander, so very badly, but if it got out that she was alive—"

"What do you think it would have done to me to find this out later, huh? It could ruin my reputation as a lawyer, for one, but it would destroy me to lose this trial then find out that the whole fucking thing was a farce! Jesus, George, you couldn't have mentioned one _fucking_ time that she wasn't really dead?"

"I was just trying to do what was best for her—"

"And what about what's best for you, huh? You two weren't _really_ involved romantically, even friends will throw each other under the bus every now and then—"

"I didn't want to lose you again, okay?" George slammed his hands on the table and stood up, towering over Alex. "Alexander, yes, I lied to you about Martha being alive. However, even if I wasn't here, _I would have lied_ to you about it _anyway_! That was part of the decision. Martha wanted her image to die. Eventually I would have told you the truth, but we wanted a very, _very_ limited amount of people knowing the truth. Hell, only JP and Naomi, and now you, know that she's alive. Naomi only found out because JP told her after he messed up so badly and let those hooligans into our home, and neither one of them could rightfully tell the police that she was alive without bringing her back!

"What would you have done if I had told you the truth from the very beginning, huh? You never would have come back to see me, and everything that Martha and I did would have been done in vain. I know I broke your heart all those years ago. _I'm sorry,_ but Alexander, I _never_ stopped loving you, ever!"

"Then why didn't you ever come back?" Alex's voice broke on the last word. Just like that, his anger was gone, replaced with the same hollow ache that had taken up residence in his heart so many years ago. George's anger looked like it was fading, to, the whites in his knuckles darkening back to his normal skin tone as he lightened the pressure against the table.. "Fuck, George, if you had come back at _any_ time during the last five years, I would have welcomed you back into my life with open arms. Well, I guess I'd be a little skeptical, at first, but all of this? George, how can I know that your feelings for me are real if you were able to lie to me so easily about something as big as your wife's death?"

Alex could feel prickling at the corner of his eyes, and he knew that he wasn't going to last very long. Already, he could feel sadness threatening to overwhelm him. He stood up, although unlike George, he tucked his hands against his sides and looked down at the ground. "Coming here was a mistake. John and Martha are talking to the judge right now, so you should be out of here by the end of the day. I'm sorry none of this turned out the way you wanted it to, but George, you can't just lie to me about something like this and expect everything to turn out okay."

Alex took a deep breath and walked around the table. He stood right next to George and reached out for him, putting his hands on either side of George's jaw and turning his head to face him. George, too, had glassy eyes, and he was whispering protests as Alex leaned their foreheads together before dropping down and giving George a chaste kiss. He breathed into it, putting as much of his sadness and love into a single gentle kiss as he could before pulling away. He could feel the tears now slipping down George's face over his thumbs. George was still whispering to him, quiet murmurs of, "Alexander, please, don't do this."

Alex gently kissed away of the ears before pressing their foreheads together again. "Goodbye, George. Please don't contact me again."

"Alexander, please, I love you—"

"Goodbye, George." Alex took a deep breath before dropping his hands and pulling away from George, closing his eyes and turning to walk out the door. He ignored George as he lunged forward and tried to grab Alex's wrist, his pleadings growing louder and more desperate the further that Alex walked away.

Alex should have expected it, but a broken heart hurt so much more the second time.


	17. Chapter 17

Alex managed, somehow, to make it back to his house before he completely broke down. He was thankful that Angelica and Phillip were at school. Especially with all the concerns and doubts that Angelica had been having, he _really_ didn't want them to have to see how crushed he was. He held his breath as he pulled into his garage, clicking the closed button and waiting for it to shut while he turned the car off.

The moment that the garage door was completely shut, the tears that Alex was trying so hard to hold back come all at once.

He moved his hands up to the top of his steering wheel and leaned his head down, sobbing. Jesus Christ, what had he done? He had come to the conclusion while he was driving that it was _him_ that was the asshole, not George. If Eliza, or hell, even if it was Maria, wanted to fake her own death for whatever reason, Alex would take the secret to the grave. How could he expect George to do anything different? Especially when George and Martha had known each other for so long.

At first, Alex had trouble with the fact that Martha and George had known each other for years, but the more that he thought about it, the more he realized that he _had_ known that before. He had also met Martha once, when she came to visit George after the first big fight she and her husband had. Alex had completely forgotten about it. He was working for another big-business firm with John, and they were spending the majority of their time trying to make names for themselves. He had only been able to see George once or twice per week anyway, so he hadn't cared much when George said that a friend of his was going to be staying with them for a few days.

Martha slept on their couch for nearly a full week, but Alex could only remember being home for one or two evenings. George took the whole week off to comfort Martha, even went back with her back to her home for more than a few days, but Alex . . . he didn't think it was worth it, taking time off work to comfort a woman that he didn't know.

Looking back on it, he wondered how much of an asshole Martha thought he was, and whether she justified George's leaving from his actions then. God, he was awful back then, wasn't he? He was never around for George, and he spent more of his time working than he did anything else. Sure, he tried his best to make time for George, and to make time for his children, but things weren't easy. He was trying to make his way up through the ranks, trying to make a name for himself. He was overworked and exhausted, all the time, but that didn't mean that he deserved anything that had happened between George and him.

Alex sat up straight and lifted his hand, pressing his fingertips against his eyes and rubbing them, the pressure from his fingers fighting against the pressure from his tears. He pressed as hard as he could and breathed in and out through his nose, trying his hardest to calm himself down. He may be upset, but at this point, _he_ was the only person responsible for how he was feeling. He should have listened to what George had had to say, let him explain himself. It was only fair.

Alex counted to ten before he got out of the car and went back inside. He grit his teeth and forced himself to calm down, forced the tears to stop. He went into his kitchen and squatted down to the lower right cabinet. He was glad that his children weren't home. He didn't want them to see him drinking, especially not during the day. Actually, maybe they shouldn't come home at all tonight, just to be safe. Just few text messages and . . . there, they were staying with their mother for the night. Nothing to worry about at all now.

After only a few seconds, Alex already felt out of control. He grabbed a bottle of vodka and stood up. He put the bottle on the counter and grabbed a glass, filling it up nearly halfway with the liquor before going to his refrigerator and getting out his orange juice. He filled the cup the rest of the way up with that and took up to his office. He turned on his lap top and sat down, kicking his legs out and downing the glass in one gulp. He logged in to his computer and went back to that locked folder that he had shied away from for so long.

Soon, his screen was filled with pictures and videos of George, of things that he had for so long told himself that he was better off not remembering. He watched the things they had done with Phillip and Angelica, the things that they had done as a couple. Every surprise party, every secret surprise, every major event—everything in one location in front of him. He saw how happy George and he had been together, how much love they had shared over the years.

He had to bring the rest of the bottle upstairs to get through it.

Within an hour, Alex was quickly on the path to _heavy_ intoxication. He hadn't gotten this drunk in years. The last time he could remember drinking this much was the day that George had left him.

 _Alex walked across the office parking lot, the good mood he had been nursing all day suddenly slipping into something akin to depression. His stomach suddenly felt tight, and it was getting hard to breath,_

 _John, who was walking next to him, looked at him cautiously. "You okay, Alex? Do you need to sit down or get some water or something?" He took a step towards Alex and took his hand, using his thumb to rub at Alex's wrist bone the way he always did when Alex was in the midst of a panic attack._

 _Alex pulled his hand back and shook his head. "I'm fine, John. Just a bit of a headache. It'll go away in a moment." He gave John a tight smile and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek as they reached his car. "I'll call you later, all right? We can talk about what we want to do for George's surprise party then—he is going to work on his store expansion tonight. You can come by, if you'd like."_

 _"_ _Yeah. Let me just grab some dinner and then I'll swing by, okay? Like an hour?"_

 _"_ _Yeah. See you then."_

 _Alex climbed into his car and watched John walk the rest of the way across the parking lot o his own car. He waited for John to pull out of the parking lot before he slouched down in his seat, the anxious feelings growing worse as he pulled out his phone. Something just wasn't right._

 _Alex contemplated just going home when another idea struck him instead. George was probably already on his way to the stand (now a storefront), but he would pick up Alex's call, regardless._

 _Alex unlocked his phone and hit his "favorites" list, quickly tapping on the first contact, which had a picture of George and him, kissing. It was one of the first pictures they had taken together, and had always been Alex's favorite._

 _The phone rang three times before going to voicemail. Alex pulled his phone away and stared at it, his brows furrowed. George's phone had never done that. If it was off, it went straight to voicemail, and if he couldn't pick up in time, it rang eight times before it went to voicemail. But three? That was unusual._

 _Maybe they had forgotten to pay George's phone bill again. It wouldn't be the first time that that had happened, both men too caught up in their lives to realize that the due date for the bill had passed. Normally when that happened, however, he would get a very different message regarding his call: "The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please hang up, and try again."_

 _Well, he might as well follow the phantom message, even if it hadn't shown up. He hung up and shook his phone a few times before calling again. This time, it only rang once before it got sent to voicemail._

 _Alex hung up again and lowered the phone as he realized that George must be_ sending _him to voicemail. It wasn't something he normally did, but perhaps he was on the phone with one of his carpenters, or the architect, or, hell, even one of his employees. Yeah, that must be it._

 _Alex ignored the heavy feeling in his stomach and put his phone down, pursing his lips before turning his car on and making the drive back home. As he drove, he kept glancing over to his phone in the cup holder, hoping that George would call him back or at least send him a text. Ever since George's refusal of Alex's proposal, George had been acting strange. He had been distant, and he didn't seem nearly as happy as he had once upon a time. It was starting to make Alex incredibly uncomfortable, and he couldn't help but wonder if all of this was going to come to a head soon. He desperately hoped not._

 _The closer he got to the house, the more anxious he felt. He felt like he had swallowed a handful of bees, his stomach jolting with every bump that he went over in the road. When he finally pulled into the driveway, the feeling that something was wrong was nearly overwhelming. He opened the garage door and pulled in, turning his car and shutting the garage before he went into the house._

 _The very first thing that Alex noticed when he walked through the door into the kitchen was that Rivera didn't come out to greet him. Granted, the dog was getting up there in terms of her age, so she struggled with getting down the stairs from their bedroom to the door. Even then, however, she would bark from the top of the stairs, greeting her master vocally until he could make it up the stairs to see her._

 _"_ _Rivera?" he called out, dropping his briefcase on the counter and shrugging his jacket off. He waited for a moment, but didn't hear even the sound of her collar as she shook her head._

 _Again, the anxiety got worse. He hoped that George had just decided to take her with him to the shop, and that nothing had happened to her. He didn't know how he would explain it to George if he had._

 _As Alex walked through the living room, however, he was struck with the realization that something was_ really _wrong. The paintings that normally hung above the couch, the ones that George had so diligently picked out were gone, leaving blank spots that showed how filthy the wall really was. Alex walked over to wall, glancing down behind the couch to see if they had just fallen. (They had not.)_

 _Alex bit his lip and reached down, squeezing his thigh hard enough for his nails to cut through his dress pants. He took a deep breath before going up to George and his bedroom, trying his hardest to keep his gaze locked forward and his eyes away from the collections of pictures that were missing. Photographs of George's family, of his nieces, his nephews, all gone._

 _Alex could feel himself starting to hyperventilate as he threw open the door to their bedroom. At first, it looked the same as it always did, but the moment that he opened the closet door, he fell to the floor. All of George's clothes were gone, empty hangers in their wake._

 _He stared up at the colored plastic for a moment before he pushed himself up off the floor. He walked over to the dresser and pulled the drawers open, letting out a whimper when he saw that those were empty, as well. He pulled he drawers all of the way out in panic, tossing them to the floor and crouching down to see if, somehow, George's things managed to get trapped behind the wood._

 _When he couldn't find anything, Alex ran back downstairs and grabbed his phone, which he had left on top of his briefcase. He tried calling George again, although this time he was sent straight to voicemail without pause._

 _Alex hung up the phone and began to text George. As he typed he crouched down and grabbed the whiskey from under the sink, taking a big gulp. It burned as it went down, but it was welcome against the sharp ache in his chest. Before Alex could get a full message typed out, however, there was knocking on his door._

 _With wide eyes, Alex tightened his grip on the bottle and ran to see who was there, taking another hefty gulp of the fire-like liquid. He grabbed the knob and threw the door open, his heart sinking as he saw that it was only John,_

 _John was looking down at his phone, but when he looked up, he nearly dropped his phone as he looked at Alex. "Alex? What's wrong? Why are you crying?"_

 _Alex hadn't noticed the tears falling down his cheeks, but at John's words, he completely lost it. He fell to his knees and took another gulp before covering his eyes and sobbing. John dropped down beside him, rubbing his back and staring at him in confusion. He adjusted so that he was sitting with his back against the wall and pulled Alex into his lap, wrapping his arms around Alex's shoulders and holding him tightly. He kissed his forehead and stroked his hair, waiting for Alex to tell him what was going in._

Alex shook his head as he felt a particularly painful lurch in his stomach. He stood and bolted for the bathroom, making it just in time as his body expelled the large quantity of alcohol he had taken in. He dropped down to his knees in front of the toilet and vomited, the burn that had felt so pleasant going down turning into an agony as it came back up.

Fortunately, it was only a matter of minutes before Alex was finished. He fell back onto the ground, landing on his rear and ruining his good dress pants as he landed in a splatter of sickness. He groaned and buried his face in his hands, closing his eyes and counting to ten before standing and going into his bedroom. He stripped down to just his boxers and undershirt, throwing all of his business clothes into a corner of the room.

As Alex looked around the room, however, he was struck with the same feelings that he had had when he had realized that George had left him. He hadn't moved, hadn't really changed the house all that much. He had wanted to, desperately told himself time and time again that he needed to leave, but he could never find the courage to. This had been the place that George and he had spent their life together, the place where his children had spent a good part of their childhood. He just couldn't do it, not to himself, not to them.

Alex went back into the office and picked the bottle back up, taking yet another drink (was the bottle really almost empty? He could have sworn it was full just a few minutes ago) before going down to the kitchen and slamming it on to the counter. What good did the bottle do if it was empty? He had to have something else there that he could drink. Whiskey, maybe, or one of those fruity, girly drinks that Gil insisted on brining over all the damn time. There had to be something, right?

Before Alex could find anything else to drown his sorrows in, however, he heard a knock on the door. He let out a sound of disgust before going to see who it was. It had to be John. Who else would come to see him, especially on such a fucking awful day such as this? He didn't know how much time had passed since he left the prison, but if it was the afternoon . . . hell, George was probably on his way to paradise with Martha and JP now. John probably wanted to gloat about the fact that he was able to convince the Judge to let George off, and he would spent the whole _fucking_ night berating Alex for running out of the prison like a little kid afraid of the monster in the closet.

Alex kicked the door with his foot before he opened it, shocked to see that it was already nighttime. "Look, John, you can fuckin' talk shi' about all this tom'row—"

"Hi, Alexander."

Alex took a step back as he saw George standing in front of him. From the street below, Alex could see John's car, but John only stayed long enough to blow him a kiss before driving away. Alex looked up at George, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping in shock for a moment before he realized that he was in his undershirt and boxers. He stuttered for a moment before slamming the door in George's face, running to the closet and grabbing the first jacket that he could find.

In his drunken state, Alex didn't realize that he was wearing one of Angelica's bright pink velour track jacket until he had opened the door and George looked at him like he was a crazy person. He cleared his throat and held the door open, trying as best as he could to make himself appear a lot less drunk than he knew he really was.

If George's expression was any indication of Alex's acting abilities, his intoxication was much more prominent than he was hoping for. He stepped past Alex and crossed his arms, leaning back onto his heels and keeping his eyes resolutely away from Alex. He stared at the wall, at the door, at the stairs, at anything that wasn't Alex before saying, "Uhm, I think we need to talk."

Alex coughed and pulled the jacket down further, his cheeks burning as he couldn't help but stare at how attractive George still looked when he wasn't wearing a jumpsuit. He could feel himself growing interested, the alcohol holding back all of his inhibitions and putting his emotions front and center. "Uhm, it's late . . . maybe you could, uhm, sleep on the couch, and uhm, we'll talk in the morning—when I'm more, uhm, more sober?" He winced at the way his words were slurring together.

Before George had a chance to say anything, however, Alex managed to push past him and go upstairs to his room, locking himself in his bedroom and throwing himself on his bed before he had time to convince himself of doing anything else.

Alex prayed that sleep would come quickly.


	18. Chapter 18

In the end, Alex ended up staying up nearly the entire night, only falling asleep twenty-five minutes before his alarm for the office was due to go off. He texted John in the middle of the night that he wasn't going to make it into work, which, he learned, John was already planning on, since George was pack in the picture.

Alex spent most of the night in his bedroom with his laptop, only leaving when his growling stomach was too much for him to ignore. He waited as long as he could, hoping that he wouldn't have to talk to George until he was properly sober. He pressed himself against the wall as he walked down the stairs, holding his breath and stepping only on the edges of the wood so that the middles didn't creak.

Fortunately, George was so exhausted that he didn't move so much as an inch as Alex clambered by him. It wasn't all that surprising to Alex, though; George _had_ been spending the last several months sleeping on a thin, hard cot. Alex's couch wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but compared to that, it must have felt like the most luxurious of beds.

Alex had had to stop himself from lying down at the couch with George, but now, as he tried to convince himself to go downstairs and have a full conversation, he was glad that he hadn't lied down with him. Being upstairs gave him just enough distance to think about what it was that he was going to say, while still being close enough that he wasn't afraid that this conversation wouldn't happen.

Eventually, Alex knew that he had to stop stalling, and he pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a dark-red sweatshirt before going downstairs, the smell of bacon attacking his senses the moment that he opened his door. His head felt like it had been sliced in half with a machete, and his stomach was curdling, but he did his best to ignore it as he stepped into the kitchen.

Immediately, Alex could tell that George was making all of his favorites: bacon, orange Julius, and blackberry pancakes with powdered sugar. George had found an apron somewhere in the kitchen (it had to be Angelica's; it was designed with a dark-pink cheetah print and had hot-pink fake fur and jewels along the edges) and was humming a tune to himself as he flipped the pancakes, cooking them evenly on both sides before sliding them onto a plate.

When George turned to put the plate onto the counter, however, he jumped, startled by Alex's presence. He barely caught the pancakes, flipping them haphazardly onto the counter just in time for them to not fall on the floor. He rocked on his feet for a moment before pouring more batter into the pan, dropping a few of the cut-up blackberries into the center of each pancake. "Good morning, Alexander," he said, his voice breaking and his arm beginning to tremble. He nearly dropped the spatula as he set it down on the counter.

"Good morning, George." Alex couldn't stop the quivering of his voice, either. "How did you sleep?"

"Just fine, thank you. How about you?"

"Fine."

"That's good."

George picked the spatula back up and flipped the pancakes. Alex bit his lip and tried to think of anything he could say to break the tense silence, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't come out awkward or accusatory. He had so many questions, but he didn't want to come out and ask anything. What if he did it wrong, and George decided that Alex wasn't worth the answers? He _had_ tried to explain everything, and Alex had just walked away. If the roles were reversed, Alex wasn't sure that he would let _George_ have a second chance, so why would George be any different?

Regardless, Alex had to break the silence. There had been too many things unsaid between them to keep on being silent. "I didn't actually get your letters until yesterday, so you know. I wasn't purposely ignoring you or anything; Angie found them first and didn't want me to get hurt again."

George stiffened. "I see."

"I just . . . I don't want you thinking that I didn't want to talk to you. I wanted to come back and see you, but with how things were here—"

"Alexander, you don't have to apologize," George interrupted, pausing flipping the pancakes to glance over his shoulder. "I understand, I really do. Eliza and Maria needed you more than I did. I missed you so, so much, but it wasn't like I was going anywhere. Besides, John still came on a weekly basis."

"I know he did, but it was me that you reached out for in the first place. If I hadn't dragged John along, you would have been alone."

George's knuckles turned white from how hard he was gripping the spatula, and his shoulders had moved from trembling to heavy shaking. When he spoke, Alex could hear that he was trying to keep himself from crying, his voice tight and his words clipped. "It's fine, Alexander. Really."

The tense silence came back. This time, Alex wasn't sure what to say. He sighed and walked over to the island across from George, putting his hands on the edge and using it to hoist himself up onto the counter. He kicked his feet out and breathed through his nose, twisting his lips up to the side as he tried to think of something witty or amusing to break the ice.

Before he had thought of anything, however, George finished making the pancakes. He grabbed another plate from the cabinet (at first, Alex was surprised that he knew where to go, but then he remembered that he hadn't changed where he put things since George left) and separated the pancakes onto them, covering both stacks with healthy amounts of powdered sugar and a few pieces of bacon before handing one to Alex.

"Thank you," Alex said, forcing himself to smile in a way that he hoped looked genuine. "Do you want to sit at the table and eat?"

"Sure."

Alex jumped down off the counter and led the way, using his foot to kick George's chair out for him. George grunted in thanks and sat down, training his eyes on the table as he ate. Alex did the same, at first, but he quickly found his eyes being drawn to George.

After several minutes, George started looking up at Alex, as well. He chewed his pancakes slowly before swallowing and sighing. "I—I know that you are angry that I lied to you, but I want to try and explain my reasoning. I understand that yesterday you were too angry to—why are you looking at me like that?"

Alex clenched his jaw and squeezed his lips together, staring at George for a moment before looking away and blinking quickly to try and push back the tears. He tried not to look away for too long, though. He didn't want to give George the wrong idea. "I'm not angry at you for lying, George. I was, at first, but then I thought about it, and Eliza was in Martha's shoes, I would have done the same thing."

"Why are you angry with me, then? It may have been five years, Alex, but I still can tell exactly what you're feeling. I know there's something that you're not saying." He sighed. "Is it about why I never came back all these years?"

Alex couldn't lie to him. " . . . yes."

George nodded curtly. "I expected that. I wanted to come back, Alexander, I really did. It was one of the first things that Martha and I talked about, after we got married. I mean, we had talked about it while we were 'dating' too, but—" He paused, shaking his head. It took him several seconds to figure out how to continue. "I refused your proposal because I was scared, Alexander, and I stayed away for the exact same reason. When Martha and I got married, she kept trying to convince me to come and talk to you, to try again, _anything_ , but I was so sure that you wouldn't want anything to do with me. She proposed being my beard, making it appear to society that I was straight and happily married while still allowing me to share my life with you. I knew that wasn't what _you_ wanted, though, so I stayed away."

"Why go through with the marriage in the first place, then, if neither of you loved one another?"

George put his hand out and stretched it towards Alex. Alex hesitated for a moment before reached out as well, interlacing their fingers. George let out a breath through his nose, his shoulders relaxing and his eyes lighting up. "Sweetheart," he hesitated, waiting for Alex to say something about his word choice. Alex didn't. George's smile grew. "Sweetheart, Martha and I only got married to ease our broken hearts. Martha's husband had passed on, and I was missing you . . . we both needed someone to ease the ache."

Alex squeezed George's hand, but he couldn't help but look down at the table as his throat became tight. "I just wish that you had felt like you could have come home. Was I that terrible to you that you didn't think you could just come back?" He started to pull his hand away, but George held on tighter. "I wish you had just come home. I was mad at you, but I would have forgiven you, George. All I wanted was for you to come home to me."

"I know you did, sweetheart, but I was just too afraid. I didn't know what to do." He cleared his throat. "I . . . almost came back, a few times. The day that I left, it took every bit of energy I had to make it to the end of the driveway, nonetheless the end of the street. I kept thinking about how big of a mistake I was making, about how much of an absolute _idiot_ I was for leaving you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me, by far, and I was stupid enough to throw it away because of a few doubts I was having . . . and then a few months later, when Martha and I began talking, she tried to convince to come home."

"Why didn't you, then? Why didn't you talk to me? Tell me that you were having doubts? We could have worked through them together. After you left, I didn't even care that you didn't want to marry me. I just wanted you back home in whatever way I could have you."

Now it was George who was fighting back tears. "I know you did," he said, his voice thick with emotion and his grip on Alex's hand tightening like a vice. "I know you did, sweetheart. And I wanted to come back so badly, I just . . . " He trailed off, his lower lip jutting out and his free hand waving as he tried to figure out what to say.

Alex saved him the trouble of saying it again." "You were scared."

George pursed his lips. "Yeah."

"Can you tell me what you were afraid of? Please?" Alex moved his thumb so that he could rub the side of George's hand in comfort.

George hesitated, but nodded. "I . . . I was afraid of what we had. You were speeding up to the top of the totem pole, and everything was going so well for you. You were finally reaching all of your dreams, and I . . . " he chuckled dryly, "I wasn't doing anything more than selling some produce by the side of the road. You needed someone who could jump just as high as you, someone who was smart enough to do something with his life. Everything was going well, for a while, but after you won that Biggerson case and fell into the eye of the media . . . Alex, you're young. You're smart. You're _beautiful_. Everyone loves you. You deserved better than being with some old guy like me, especially when you could have literally _anyone_ that caught your eye."

The tears began to fall. George sniffed before reaching up and wiping some of the tears away. "I wanted so badly to say yes when you asked me to marry you, Alex, but I truly believed that you would regret marrying me. It would have just tied you down, and eventually, be it now or ten years from now, you would have regretted it. You would have regretted _me_. You could have made decisions without worrying about anyone besides yourself, you could have . . . I don't know, Alex, but you were better off without me."

Alex, who had been fighting George's pull the entire time he was speaking, gave in to his desires, keeping hold of George's hand as he walked around the table and sat down on his lap. He wrapped an arm around George's neck and leaned their foreheads together, his other hand coming up to cup George's cheek. He lowered his head and kissed him gently, echoing the love he had tried to portray in his goodbye kiss at the prison. George kissed back with just as much emotion, his hands sneaking up under the back of Alex's shirt and pressing his fingertips against him, pushing him closer against his chest.

After a few more gentle kisses, Alex pulled away and cradled George's jaw. He placed feather-light kisses along his nose and cheekbones, nuzzling against his jaw before pulling back and locking their eyes. George still had a few stray tears rolling down his cheeks, but he didn't look upset, anymore. He looked like he had just witnesses every miracle in the world.

"None of those dreams mattered without you, George," Alex said, dropping down to kiss him again. "After you left, I was a complete _mess._ I could barely go to work, and Eliza had to keep Phillip and Angelica full time because I couldn't look after myself, nonetheless a couple of thirteen-year-olds."

George reached up and pulled Alex's hair of out its tie, letting his waves cascade over his shoulders and upper back. He moved his hand to massage the back of Alex's neck before whispering, "I'm sorry, Alexander."

Alex kissed him again. "I'm sorry too, George. I love you so much. I really, really do."

"I love you, too, sweetheart."

George adjusted their positions so that he was hugging Alex. He buried his face against Alex's shoulder and breathed him in, his fingertips now massaging Alex's hips in circles so gentle that it gave Alex goosebumps. Alex, in turn, wrapped his arms around George's neck and rested his cheek against the top of George's head.

Alex and George sat like that for several minutes, but eventually, Alex wanted more. He untangled himself from around George's neck. George looked up at him in confusion when Alex pushed George's hands off his back and stood up. "Alex?"

"Come lie down with me," Alex said, intertwining his fingers with George's again and pulling him up until he was standing, too. George smiled and nodded, humming contentedly as Alex led him up to his bedroom. Alex let go of George's hand to pull his pajama pants and tee shirt off. He sat down on the bed in just his boxers, scooting back until his hips were against the pillows.

Alex expected George to get undressed, too, but he seemed to be mesmerized by Alex, his eyes darkening as he stared at Alex. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, smiling as he pulled his eyes from Alex's abdomen up to his face. "So, so beautiful."

Alex smiled back at him, patting the empty spot beside him. "Are you going to come lie down with me or am I just going to sit here by my lonesome?"

George chuckled and shook his head, quickly pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it over onto the top of Alex's dresser. He started to unbuckle his pants but he stopped, the smile dropping and his eyes dropping bashfully. "Uhm, after we broke up—" he began, lifting his hand uncomfortably to rub the back of his neck.

"I know," Alex finished for him, rocking up onto his knees and grabbing one of George's belt loops. He pulled him closer to the bed and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to George's navel before pushing his jeans down to the ground.

Once the denim had hit the floor, Alex moved back to the pillows to study George like George had studied him, his heartbeat increasing as his eyes dropped down across George's hard abs and firm thighs down to the intricate metal webbing of his prosthetic. George angled his posture so that it was partially hidden behind his natural leg, embarrassment evident in his features. Alex tried to make him more comfortable, taking his hand again and pulling him down onto the bed as he stepped the rest of the way out of his jeans.

"I said, _lie down_ with me," Alex teased, purposely keeping his gaze away from the prosthetic as he pulled the blankets down over them, pushing on George's hip until he was rolled over and facing the other direction. George still seemed tense, so Alex wrapped an arm around his waist and moved closer to him, pressing his chest firmly against George's back and nestling George's read against his groin. He kissed the back of his neck. "Get some rest, sweetheart. We have all day."

He was asleep within minutes.


End file.
